


Playing With Fire: Once Upon A Time

by mhs0501



Series: Hansoff Saga [7]
Category: Frozen (2013), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Season/Series 04, Alternate Universe - Frozen (2013) Fusion, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Finally After Six Months, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hans Being Less of an Asshole, Hans Has Fire Powers, Homosexuality, M/M, Magic, Mild Language, Not That Different, Other, Villain Genderbend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 65,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhs0501/pseuds/mhs0501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my retelling of Season 4 of Once Upon a Time's Frozen Arc combined with my Hansoff Fandom. This is probably my longest fanfiction ever to date and for the most part stays in canon with Once Upon a Time but with character/gender swapped roles and a few twists I added just because. Thank you to all my readers who've left kudos on my other works... know that another Hansoff story should be up here soon.</p><p>At the moment I'm considering this non-canon of my own fic, but of course anyone who reads it certainly doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Tale of A Prince and an Ice Cutter

There was a considerable feeling of warmth in the coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine. There was the somewhat balmy atmosphere that sharply contrasted with the chills often brought on by a November gale, but most of the residents were completely unaware of the weather. As it was, most of them were cooped inside Granny’s Diner, celebrating the birth of a prince named that very evening as Neal, akin to the tradition of a baptismal-like coronation that would’ve taken place in a grand castle in the heart of the Enchanted Forest. But the town was still unaware, because this town had air conditioning.

 

In their rush to return through the portal The Dark One had opened in his vault, Prince Charles and Princess Leia had failed to notice what had come through with them in their hurry to the coronation. Their fake aliases no longer needed, they resumed their lives as Killian Jones and Emma Swan, taking back a maiden who had been freed from execution. But four people passed through the vault, and the final one was only beginning to make his presence known.

 

In the worn down barn that housed the final gears used in the Wicked Witch Zelena’s plan the ominous heat and humidity nearly clouded the stale air and scent of hay. A trail of wispy smoke rose from the east corner of the strange, target like engraving that was the key to the time traveling spell, the four elements needed to sustain and activate the enchantment long gone along with its caster, the Wicked Witch. It was embedded in fresh chunks of brown earth, an urn that looked inconspicuous despite its lack of reason for being there. It was a fine silver decoration that seemed to belong in a grand palace, and it had. Trimmed with delicate detail and draped woven silver and platinum ropes that trailed along the edge of the object like the laced icing on a prized wedding cake. It was buried up to its lid, and that was all that mattered once a strong breeze unlatched it, the sound of releasing pressure echoing loudly in the vast, hollow structure. A cloud of gray smoke puffed from the opening like a dragon’s breath, a bright red liquid beginning to spill from the opening in the lid with vivacious enthusiasm as if it were alive.

 

The scarlet liquid continued to pour from the urn and into the canyon-like groove that easily contained the stuff and seemed to hold it at a fixed level, as if there was an invisible barrier keeping it from overflowing and blotching the perfectly straight line. The liquid quickly crawled down the circles and grooves, continuing to spill in ocean-like waves at it encompassed the entire shape of the target, a solid red inline making the once nearly unnoticeable target quite visible and nearly mesmerizing to look at.

 

As the stuff reached the very center of the engraved symbol: a cross that acted as a final barrier and wall that barred north from her sisters to the east and west, the liquid converged, spilling over the canyon walls in a messy manner that contradicted its original perfection. The red suddenly began to take shape, the remaining liquid drawing out of the outer grooves along the channels in perfect harmony, allowing the material to shape and grow even further.

 

A figure, that of a young mans was growing from the scarlet toned liquid. His hands were drawn in close to his body, as if he were closing himself off from a crowd, attempting to shield himself from who knew what. The liquid continued to stretch until his height was about six feet tall. The last drops reached the center at a slow crawl, and the man's features quickly became more pronounced. His arms uncrossed, the fingers closing into fists at his side.

 

His face was soft yet angular, his eyes were round and surprisingly cold looking, the copper brown missing a certain glow that had once been there but had been recently extinguished. His face was slightly paler, dusted with light freckles about his cheeks. There was a fine point to the tip of his nose, and his lips were molded into an angering frown. His auburn red hair was only three shades darker than the liquid he emerged from, messy, with sideburns neatly trimmed.

 

He brought his right hand up slowly, as if it were bound with chains, a glow filtering through the thick fabric of his charcoal grey gloves. The material blackened, smouldered, and burst into a ring of small flames that made quick work of the velveteen stitchwork. Ashes fluttered down to the dirt floor of the barn and were quickly scattered in the November breeze.

 

The pale hand now free, its fist uncoiled in a fluid motion, a blast of glowing fire spurting from the palm, focused with all possible precision towards the thing that had him trapped. The heat reached the decorative urn in less than a second and the silver and platinum dripped down in curling motions, the object reduced to molten slack in no time at all. The crackling of fire echoed in the barn as the redhead sent a second blast from his right hand, the fire smothering under a layer of sparkling, grey glass.

 

In mere moments, the amount of ash tripled as the glove on his left hand smouldered and burned, freeing his hand from the placebo effect he’d lived with up until now. His freed hand, however, remained closed around something.            

 

He seemed to pause as he reached the doors to the barn, lights of the town barely visible through the treetops of the wooded forest. His confusion seeped through his withering frown but quickly subsided as the auburn haired sorcerer took a breath and continued his stride from the barn. Only another five feet came and went before he stopped again, this time at his reflection. Discontent wandered across his face as his jaw set. His attire was in shambles, and apparently he wasn’t happy about it.

 

The man’s attire was a wrinkled blue collared dress shirt, the collar and cuffs wilted like a dying patch of violets. The buttons were distorted and warped from the near unearthly heat he had at his fingertips. His pants were black, loose-fitting breeches, the cuffs slightly frayed. Attire of cotton, felt or leather often suffered whenever he felt his emotions overcome him. But his state of dress wasn’t the only thing that disturbed the young man. He almost never lost control of his powers anymore. This wasn’t like him. He craned his head to the side at his reflection, trying to recall something that was distant, blurred, and would’ve been oh-so-helpful to know. But as hard as he concentrated in that moment, nothing came back. It was as if his memory had been wiped cleaner than a slab of fresh marble.

 

With a shake of his head, he took a calming breath, and raised his right hand as his outfit changed to his liking. The fabric smouldered and wilted to the point of near disintegration. The once sturdy leather of his dress shoes melted into the grass in a sticky, black mess that he easily stepped out of. His attire was no longer blue, but burgundy; a color he fancied more nowadays. His left hand slowly released its iron grip from the object, and a flood of recollection came back to him so quickly he nearly stumbled.

 

His wedding ring, a silver band they’d argued over for days. He’d wanted to use their father’s rings. His fiance wanted to break tradition and get simple rings made at the blacksmith despite  his reassurance that they didn’t need to go simple and should stick to tradition. After much strife and nearly calling off the reason for rings in the first place, they’d compromised and melted the old rings down into new ones. In the end, really, it was just a ring.

 

But it wasn’t just a ring, he reminded himself. It wasn’t just his ring. It was the key to finding his best friend and lover. Or so he figured. He didn’t have much else to go on. With a feeling of melancholy overcoming him, he slid the band down his ring finger.

 

The grass beneath his feet was beginning to dry and wither as the man continued to walk down towards a road, the strange yellow trail along its center like some path. It reflected moonlight from it’s surface in a very peculiar manner that he’d only ever seen replicated with his magic, recalling the golden thread he’d used on his friend’s birthday party. _That_ was one experience he wanted to forget.

 

The black road continued, small cracks appearing where he stepped as the moisture left the hard surface. The first pebble he encountered bothered him slightly, and reminded him he’d neglected his choice of footwear. With a small wave of his hand coal black dress shoes materialized from his feet, cushioning them but effecting the road no less than he had barefoot. Trees and ivy began to surround both sides of his path and soon enough surrounded him, as if the remind him to remain on the path. He had no reason not to.

 

A sign made of cedar and painted an emerald green was on the side of the road, causing the powerful man to stop and observe it. Gold embossed letters spelled out a notification.

 

_Road maintained by the Storybrooke beatification society._

 

“Storybrooke?” He breathed as he focused on the sign. This strange place had a name. Good. This was a start. He continued walking, paying no mind to the sign as the chipped paint bubbled and cracked from his powers.

 

He was coming up on a hill, a strange sound that mimicked a rumble entering his mind as if the crest of the hill were a volcano. For a moment, his closed his hands into fists, worried that he might be causing such a sound. Volcanos had been something he was capable of, but thankfully didn’t happen often. In fact, they hadn’t happened ever since that day on the fjord, his heatwave and emotions far from his control. All of that fear was quickly reshaped as a strange object rolled over the hill, swerving dangerously as it gained ground. Two bright white lights blared at him in the rapidly shrinking distance, the strange vehicle refusing to stop despite the fact that there was someone in its path. This was made all the more obvious as it made a loud honking sound, as if warning him to move off the road. His legs stilled, frozen as his eyes opened wider in perplextion and confusion, completely unsure how to react to such a threat that was barreling his way.

 

His brown eyes reflected with the orbs of white light as he gasped from his shock, holding out his hands as his powers worked off his instinct, his abject terror, and working to stop this threat before it did him any harm.

 

Smoke wisped from his palms as gray blobs of sparkling obsidian poured from his hands like a tilted jug of water, his powers shaping them into a wall that was still malleable. The object slammed into the molten material, a terrible cracking sound coming from the object as webs of them began to appear nearly everywhere the volcanic glass made contact. The soft material quickly gripped to the ground and stopped the machine in its tracks only a foot away from its source, his eyes still scrunched shut at his impending doom.

 

His breathed was in laboured, short puffs as he opened his eyes, a piece of auburn bangs falling into his field of vision as he realized with frightened gasps that he’d used his powers on this possibly living thing. Guilt and curiosity slowly etched at his will as the man faced his mess. The machine was still, the webs of cracks in the lights leaving the once impervious beam in fractured pieces like a shattered looking glass. It no longer made any sound as the fire wielding man looked through his shield and into the thing that had nearly taken his life.

 

The clear glass in the windshield was cracked and, from the looks of it, warping, like anything his heat touched. But through the sparkles and distortion, two faces were visible, slumped in their black harnesses. This wasn’t alive. It was only a vehicle of some sort. The men within didn’t look harmed. They showed no injuries. The man still observed in slight terror at his actions, and took a breath before closing his eyes, willing the glass back to him. His eyes squeezed shut as he concentrated what he knew. Love can quell, he repeated. Love can quell.

 

But when his eyes opened again, the headlights of the contraption still blared at him, one of the beams starting to flicker from the damage sustained. He looked at his hands in confusion and terror, wondering why his powers hadn’t obeyed when it hit him. Kristoff was not only missing, it seemed. He was the key to controlling his powers. Hans released a laboured breath and looked forlornly at the mess he’d made, guilt rising in his throat in a solid lump. Hopefully those men would be alright.

 

Strange lights not unlike that of the vehicles’ lined the paved roads of Storybrooke, hairline black wires stretching along the sides with the occasional tree and shrub. Small one and two story shops made of bricks and wood were painted in vibrant colors, easily distinguishable by the different signs. Five and Dime, Coffee, Psychiatry, all of them of little interest to Hans. Still machines like the one he’d subdued were lined along the sides of the road, dark and silent like the rest of the town. Damp leaves dried out and crackled as he continued to walk along the street, a layer of obsidian beginning to trail behind him like a shadow.

 

Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye, a shop window illuminated by a light, a headless mannequin showcasing a sharp black suit and jacket, a bright red sash tied around the waist that shined like freshly spun silk. His reflection stared back at him as Hans looked at the suit, wondering if it could possibly be the same one. It couldn’t be... could it?

 

* * *

 

_Long Ago in the Southern Isles…_

 

“Come on, Thomas. What are you trying to pull?” He said from behind his blindfold, his older brothers hands clasped firmly around his shoulders.

 

“Trust me, Hans. You want to see this.” He reassured as he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

 

“That doesn’t explain why Kristoff doesn’t have to wear a blindfold.” Hans grumbled slightly as the three men walked up the steps and a musty scent of aging wood and fabrics invaded their noses.

 

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Kristoff smiled his his fiance.

 

“Regardless, it’s a surprise.” Thomas finished.

 

“Surprises are hit or miss with this family.” Hans sighed from his place in the front of the line.

 

“Well you’re going to like this one, I promise.” They reached the top of the stairs and Thomas undid the blindfold from around his youngest brother's eyes.

 

“It’s… an attic?”

 

“Yes it is.”

 

“And what’s so special about this? We have more attics than we know exist.”

 

“True.” Thomas admitted, wavering a bit. “But this one has something special in it. Consider it a wedding present, dear brother.”

 

With that, Kristoff strolled ahead of the both of them up to an old wardrobe, its once pristine white surface now dotted with chips and flakes of decay. Golden handles held the double doors shut. With a quick motion of his hands the handles unlatched, and with a creak the wardrobe revealed its contents. Hans’ eyes opened wide at the sight.

 

“Is that…?”

 

Kristoff nodded. “Same as you’d remember it.”

 

The golden epaulettes glittered in the light cast in by the diamond arched windows, a length of gold chain reaching out from the breast pocket and into the jacket in a decorative fashion from the pocket watch it was connected to. The suit itself Hans had remembered without the jacket, the color beneath a shade not unlike the seeds of a pomegranate. The lapels were finely cut, sharpened, but at a respectable size as to not overdo it. The jacket itself seemed to bend inward in a near hourglass-like figure, a bright red ascot tied tight around the neck. The color red was the only difference, yet Hans could barely see the blue vision in his memory. Thomas had probably ordered it to be dyed.

 

“Erik’s coronation. You got this from him?” Hans questioned, taking a brisk step and fingering the delicate fabric that had minimal dust despite being in an old wardrobe in one of what were probably thousands of attics in the Southern Isles palace. Nobody mentioned that the late king would never need it again, so Thomas simply nodded.

 

“And you…” Hans paused in awe again. “You dyed it?”

 

“There’s something to be said about that rhyme, Hans.” Thomas chuckled at the Fire Princes expression. “It wouldn’t be right to let one object borrow three titles, now would it?”

 

The rhyme was well known, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Why it existed nobody really cared enough to answer. All the three men knew was that the tradition graced nearly every bride in the kingdom and realm, all the way up to the late Queen Katharine.

 

“Have you failed to realize that rhyme is meant for _brides?_ ” Kristoff pointed out as Hans suddenly realized the same and nearly let go of the suit, as if holding it ensured he would be the bride.

 

“Bride or groom, it’s tradition. And you two have already broken enough of them already.” The king rolled his eyes. “Besides, it’s supposed to be good luck.”

 

“I’m all for luck. Did Anita take it in?” Hans held the suit to his chest.

 

“Yes. Now go on, try it! We haven’t got all day.” With a small squeal of happiness, the thirteenth prince ducked behind the curtain and began to get into the suit as Thomas and Kristoff took the opportunity to look around the attic, the room having been alerted to the king and the ice cutter by the head housemaid, Gretta. Neither of them had really had the chance to see the rooms contents for themselves.

 

“Did you tell him about the precaution?” Kristoff said under his breath as the king looked over a vanity, a small pile of books stacked with dusty leather covers.

 

“No.” Thomas shook his head. “That comes after.” He picked up the books and began to look through them despite the fact that Hans was out from behind the curtain in less than two minutes, the suit seeming to fit perfectly.

 

“How’s it feel?” The king looked up from the pages at Kristoff’s question, the iceman having moved next to Hans, who was rolling his shoulders in the dark fabric as if the stretch it out to his liking.

 

“Better than expected. Boy, she really can make a suit fit.” He sighed and lifted each arm to test their range of movement. “It’s perfect.”

 

“Hopefully not too perfect. You still need to be able to take it off,” Kristoff smiled devilishly as Hans turned red. Thomas tried to look stern but a small laugh escaped him before he warned them to save that kind of talk until he was somewhere far away. Very far away.

 

“What’re you reading there?” Hans inquired as the king's face suddenly went pale. On instinct, he slammed the book shut, a whiff of aged parchment filling the room with the sound of a crinkling leather spine.

 

“Nothing.” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Kristoff, that precaution you were talking about?”

 

“Right.” Kristoff’s brown eyes opened a little wider, taking one of Hans’ hands. “Hans, this is an old suit. You know that right?”

 

“What do you mean old? Was this someone else's before it was Erik’s?”

 

“Frankly, we don’t know.” Kristoff focused on the fine outfit he’d see on the wedding day. “But it’s still valuable. And we both discussed this a few days ago, as a precaution.”

 

“For…” Hans narrowed his gaze.

 

“Well, a bonfire isn’t exactly in our best interests, right?”  

 

“You think I’m going to burn it.” Hans deadpanned, a small, uneasy chuckle in his tone as if he forgot he possessed to gift of pyrokinesis.

 

“You’re emotions tend to lose control at emotional events. Hence, our wedding.” The iceman frowned at the example he knew Hans was thinking of. The young prince’s gift was tied to his emotions and soul, as intertwined as possible. His powers frequently got loose at any sort of event where there was a lot of people, a reason to celebrate, and occasionally alcohol played a role. But damage to physical property was never that big of an issue unless Hans wore clothing that could smoulder and burn. And at the vast majority of these recent occasions, he’d worn his own clothing: handcrafted from his powers and impervious to what had created them.  

 

“I get it. But what sort of precaution, Kristoff?” A lump rose in his throat as he knew exactly what precaution his beloved was talking about.

 

With a weak smile, the ice cutter motioned to Thomas, who fished a pair of gloves from his pocket. They were felt, a smokey gray with lines of black entwining the fabric in beautiful designs and forms. They were familiar, almost painfully so.

 

“Elsa had the trolls recreate them, albeit with a bit more magic.” Thomas’s gaze was not on his brother but on the gloves. “They should be able to work.”

 

Hans glared at his brother, who released a sigh. “You only need to wear them for the wedding, officially, at least.”

 

“Officially?” The thirteenth prince raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, we all know encouraging a habit takes time. Your wedding is in a month, at least. Until then it couldn’t hurt to have you get used to-”

 

“No.”

 

Both men looked at the prince, whose glare was burning into the king with a more blistering hate than one knew was possible. He looked as if he wanted to burn both his brother and the gloves at the same time. The room began to heat considerably, the furnace like atmosphere causing both Kristoff and Thomas to begin sweating, tens of beads slowly crawling down their faces and necks.

 

“Hans, please. I know you don’t want to but-”

 

“I said no.”

 

“Hans,” Kristoff warned, his hand squeezing the prince's shoulder. “You know you don’t have to right now.” The room seemed to cool a bit. “Don’t you think you could at least try? If not for yourself than at least for me?”

 

The prince remained silent.

 

“Trust me.” Kristoff brushed a kiss on his fiance’s cheek. “It’s better to practice. You of all people should know that.”

 

Hans began to smile, the room reaching a normal temperature as he took a calming breath, cooling his temper over such an unlikely thing. “Only if you think I can.” He said quietly.

 

“I know you can.” Kristoff nodded.

 

With that, Hans took the pair of gloves from his brother, taking his time putting them on. With his hands encased, it was obvious Hans felt some discomfort. He hadn’t worn gloves since he literally scorched his last and strongest pair out of existence. He’d promised to let his powers be free like himself after running off to the mountains and abandoning all those rules and regulations that kept him locked away. It killed him to break that promise. But with a sigh, he reminded himself it was, in fact, for the best.

 

“This is going to take some getting used to.” He remarked, flexing his fingers in the soft, velveteen magic.

 

“We both know you’ll get through it. You’ve been through hell and back; no pun intended.” Thomas placed a hand on the prince's shoulder.

 

“Anyway,” The fire prince grinned. “Let’s see. I’ve got something old: this suit. Something new: our rings. Something borrowed, we’ll work on that part later… I just need something blue.” He frowned upon the realization that blue clashed with pretty much everything he made and owned. Kristoff seemed to realize this as well.

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that part.” Kristoff shrugged. “Blue’s always been more my color anyhow.”

 

“Wanna make it two for two, take on the borrowed part as well?” Hans suggested.

 

“Why not?” His fiance shrugged once again and took a step back. “Work your magic.”

 

Hans flashed a grin at the ice cutter and motioned for him to lift up his arms, and taking off the gloves before setting the concealing garments on the book Thomas had been looking at. He waved his hand in a whirling motion, calling ashes and coal dust to form from nothing as the small particles covered and spread around Kristoff’s plain attire. He was, in moments, adorning a black suit that was simple and most likely comfortable, given by the look his fiance showed after the prince finished his creation.

 

“I’d make blue adornments, but,” He shrugged, the pair knowing the only blue he could create was a low burning flame. “You know.”

 

“Easily done.” Kristoff finished, nodding at his fine suit. Hans gathered up the gloves, slipping them on before eyeing the aged, leather bound book they rested on. Picking it up, the prince gazed over the worn cover, fingering the delicate embossment of a Southern Isles African violet. Flipping through the pages of runes and Danish, the prince craned his head upon reading.

 

“It was mother's.” Thomas said gravely. After Hans flipped one page, his brother seemed to tense a bit.

 

Hans continued reading, confusion beginning to surface on his young features as his eyes opened a little wider. The thirteenth prince quickly began turning large groups of pages until he reached the end. A flurry of crackling embers began to float down to the floor as Kristoff walked over the Hans, ignoring the sudden spread of ashes that were staining both men's suits.

 

“I didn’t want you to see it.” The king deadpanned as Hans flushed pale, a hiccup coming from the back of his throat.

 

“Hans, what is it?” Kristoff pressed as a small trail of steam began to rise from his eyelids.

 

“Read.” Hans snapped slightly, nearly forcing the book from his gloved hands as heat began to radiate from them.

 

The blonde looked over the runes with slight confusion before remembering them, his range of literacy weak, at best. “I wish I didn’t need to hide the truth from my many children, but the truth would be too strong for everyone; Hans most of all to take so lightly. This mission has the chance to change all that, so I can bury the past. So we can be a family again.”

 

“What I’ve seen in my Hans is disturbing; terrifying. Erik and Thomas are peace keepers but even then sometimes they’re not enough to control him. The efforts I’ve gone through to keep him safe could all be in vain should something happen whilst I’m away. His powers have the potential to destroy the Southern Isles, and they need to be stopped. This journey could ensure that no one, Hans most of all, ever has to fear his curse again.”  

 

“She was afraid of me, my _curse_. Her death,” Hans’ voice was hoarse. “It’s all my fault.” His feet clamoured down the stairs as the prince ran from the room, Kristoff following.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day in Storybrooke..._

 

Following a trail of sparkling glass glass as if it were a trail to a gunpowder keg, Emma Swan and Killian Jones looked to the cannery building, its flaking painted sign and rickety appearance not the least bit inviting. Its door was slammed shut by someone, or something, that possessed the power of heat and apparently from the damage Leroy had described: glass making.

 

Prince Hans continued to walk, realizing that his trail of glass was eventually going to tip someone off that he was here. While he knew he was eventually going to be found out from the strange vehicle he’d apprehended, he hoped he could prolong his contact with people until he could at least get a grip of his surroundings and control his powers. Fate was apparently against him achieving either of these tasks as he ducked began a few crates, his hands pressed against the corrugated metal wall. The door opened, and footsteps echoed as the prince cursed at his involuntary pathway.

 

Ash began to flurry like a small blizzard, embers glowing red as they fanned his emotions, his fear. It began to materialize in great swathes as it channeled away from Hans, taking the shape of something he created only in his darkest moments. Pepper had died, been summoned, and was now being summoned again. Dots of black and gray speckled the monster as it grew to a respectable size. It saw the threat in front of it, and Hans barely heard one of the people speak before his monsters growl drowned out the voice.

 

Emma felt her fingers losing themselves from their grip on the trigger of her gun. Her arms bowed outward in a form of surrender. Whatever this monster wanted, it could easily take from them.

 

“We don’t want to fight.” She called to the abominable ash creature.

 

“Swan,” Killian warned her, taking half a step ahead as the monster seemed to tense a bit at his movement.

 

“Let’s just see what it wants.” She cut him off. The monster seemed to hear and understand her as its own, tree trunk like arms branched out, spikes of glass rising from nearly every surface like that of a porcupines.

 

“ _Go Away!_ ” It roared, it’s eyes glowing a fierce scarlet.

 

The power of his warm breath shoved the sheriff and her accomplice to the ground, Emma’s gun firing as it left her hand. The bullet embedded itself in the monster's arm, disappearing and doing absolutely no damage. The monster, however, seemed to take this as an indication that they were going to fight, the simple golem not being fond of loud noises to begin with. The pair of intruders only had a moment to get up and sprint as the ash-being followed, completely taking out the worn, wooden wall in its chase as if it were nothing more than a wall of popsicle sticks.

 

The distant shouts and screams soon echoed through the forgotten cannery, Hans still pressed against the wall in complete terror, unable to ignore the sounds of destruction and suffering he’d more or less created with Pepper. The golem wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. It was simply a bodyguard, meant to eliminate threats to its creator and apparently, chase after them. He’d never done that before. Hans took a deep breath as his stomach twisted in knots, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to ignore the pain his magic was now causing. A warm breeze filled the air as pieces of parchment and litter filled the now open area.

 

A crumbled one brushed against the prince’s feet, and he picked it up uncrumpling it as quickly as he could before he scorched it beyond recognition. It was purely common sense that one couldn’t read ashes.

 

It appeared to be a newspaper, Hans only having ever heard of such a thing from Weselton. They and a few other empires were the only ones with the resources and need to make it. The Southern Isles had yet to need it, the main city small enough that things spread rather quickly; almost like a wildfire. The Storybrooke Daily Mirror had its front page, on it a picture of a smiling woman and an older man, the headline reading ‘Mr. Gold to Marry Belle French’ as they stood for the portrait in what looked to be a store, various glass cases guarding objects and keeping them safe. The edges of the page began to blacken where Hans’ fingers were clutching it, and the prince quickly shifted their position to a new section of the page to avoid burning it.

 

In the corner of the picture there was a flipped open jewelry box, an opaque black jewel infused to a silver ring. It was held up by the folds of white silk cushioning, the black gem sparkling in the flash of the machine used to capture the smiling couple. Hans read on, the name of the establishment where the ring was at being revealed as ‘Mr. Gold Pawn Broker & Antiquities Dealer’. With a drawn out breath, the prince crumpled up the newspaper and stuck it into his breast pocket.  

 

* * *

 

_In the Southern Isles…_

 

“There you are. I was worried we’d lost you.” Kristoff sighed with relief when he saw Hans sitting on a rock in the royal hunting grounds, the same ones they climbed on as young children.

 

“We?” Hans didn’t look up from the book, his gloves brushing the worn leather carefully.

 

“Thomas, he almost sent guards out until I remembered this.” The iceman gestured to the forest around them. “You always used to come here before the accident.”

 

“Kristoff,” Hans frowned. “Can you please just go? I want to be alone right now.”

 

“You’ve had thirteen years to be alone. I’m not leaving your side.” Kristoff crossed his arms, a sudden look of awe passing over his face. “You trekked out here in that suit?”

 

The prince nodded, the flurry of ash and embers still drifting to the ground and going dim at the touch of the sandy ground. The suit was a little dirty, the lapels were folded and wilted a bit, and then his jacket had gotten caught on a tree bough half sprint, loosening a few threads. Thomas was going to kill him for that. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath to calm himself. When he opened them, Kristoff was on his knee, at his side.

 

“Hans, please.” He placed a hand in his fiances. “Talk to me.”

 

“My mother, she was scared of me, because of my powers. I always knew it but never truly believed it until now. She left, because I was-- _am_ \--a monster.” His voice cracked.

 

Kristoff shook his head. “I’m not going to believe that because I know you. You are not a monster to me, to Thomas, to Ashley, or to this kingdom.”

 

“Really? It’s all right there.” Hans stated bluntly, thumping the book with a gloved hand.

 

“No, it’s not.” Kristoff argued. “This is just one clue. It doesn’t say anything about what she was doing or where she was going. For all you know it was a diplomatic mission.”

 

Hans nearly snorted. “Kristoff, because of me she left. Because of me,” He suddenly looked sick, as if realizing something terrible. That night, the night his mother left he was locked in a wardrobe, the outside bound with chains. His emotions were unstable, targeting anything and everything. Henrik had died the same night in a wildfire. “Because of me he’s gone.”

 

“What? Who’s gone?”

 

“Henrik, your father. Because of me he won’t be walking you down the aisle.” Steamy tears rose from the fire prince as he clutched the diary like a life preserver.

 

“Hans, no. You didn’t cause that fire.” Kristoff seemed unsettled, his grip on his hand tightening slightly. “I don't believe that. I refuse to believe it.” He shook his head.

 

“I believe it. Kristoff, I can’t even try to apologize-” He stopped when the ice cutter suddenly wrapped his arms around the prince and squeezed. The hug continued for a long string of minutes for Kristoff loosened his grip, shifting to the other knee and looking his boyfriend in the eyes.

 

“You’re not responsible for my father. You’re not responsible for Erik, and you’re sure as hell not responsible for your mother. There are more answers to what happened out there, and I know it.”

 

“What makes you so sure,” Hans started but was cut off by Kristoff pressing his lips to his.

 

“Let’s call it a hunch.” The ice cutter smiled softly. “And I know just who to ask.”

 

“Who?” The thirteenth prince inquired.

 

“Who else knows the workings of this palace, and acts as a therapist?” Kristoff continued to smile, his hands still hanging loosely on Hans’ shoulders. When the prince looked confused, the ice cutter tried again. “Who knows to add an extra six inches to your pants fly?” He couldn’t keep the laughter from his question then.

 

“Anita?” Hans asked quizzically. “What makes you so sure she’ll know anything about this?”

 

“Call it a hunch.” Kristoff repeated nonchalantly. “She’s got more stories and information than the entire hall of records. Besides, she can sense when someone’s stressed or worried.”

 

“And you know this for a fact?” Hans guessed.

 

“How else do you think I got used to life here? And how else would I know what you were getting me for a wedding present?”

 

“Damn you. I swear it’s not-” He paused suddenly. “Not that.” He covered.

 

“Sure it’s not.” Kristoff smiled knowingly. “Now come on, let’s go.”

 

The elderly seamstress was running through her supplies when both men found her. Her long, frizzy, grey hair was tied in a loose ponytail. Her eyes seemed slightly jaded until she noticed the two were there, her spindly fingers trailing a length of fine orange thread. A small, wrinkled smile crossed her face.

 

“You boys should know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” She said with a slight cackle, but didn’t face them. They’re reflection in the diamond framed window seemed to do enough.

 

“There’s still a month to go, Anita.” Hans replied, a little red at her jab, to which she laughed once more. She sighed sweetly and turned.

 

“What’s wrong? You boy’s having second thoughts? I’m sure Kristoff won’t mind the heeled boots you’re having him wear.” She said this as if she didn’t know the burly blonde was there.

 

“You’re having me _what?_ ”

 

“That’s besides the fact, Anita. This has nothing to do with Kristoff, it’s to do with me. Or, more specifically, my mother.” Hans quickly cut the babbling elder off before she could confirm the fact that Kristoff was indeed going to be wearing heeled boots, despite them seeming ladylike.

 

Anita seemed put off by this. “Well,” She set the spindle of blazing orange thread into her basket. “What is it you wanted to know?”

 

Hans pursed his lips and held out the book, a fold in the page that held their plight. The seamstress took the book and flipped to the page, calloused fingers running over the inked runes as she read the context.

 

“What was she really doing on that journey?” Hans asked tentatively, knotting his gloved fingers.  Stress and anxiety roping around him like an ivy as the elder studied the runes written by the former queens hand.

 

“I’m sorry.” She said after scanning the runes for a period of minutes. “I don’t know. Her majesty never said anything about the journey except where she was going.”

 

“And where was my mother going?” The prince pressed.

 

“A place called Misthaven. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.” The seamstress lamented. “But I can patch up your suit, if you would like. I know His Majesty has been looking forward to you wearing it.”

 

“Thank you, Anita.” Hans nodded at the offer. “I’ll stop by this evening if you’re free.” The seamstress smiled knowingly in response, agreeing to meet that evening.

 

The pair left the dressing room, Hans continuing to pace the floor, now devoid of his flurry of ashes. Kristoff, however, seemed slightly more optimistic, having somehow forgotten about the elderly woman's mention of his attire at the wedding.

 

“Alright. She wasn’t as helpful as I thought, but we got something.” The blonde seemed slightly unsure of his own words despite his show of optimism.

 

“We got more questions.” Hans deadpanned, running a hand through his auburn mess.

 

“We got an answer.” Kristoff corrected him.

 

“Which leads to more questions.” The prince shot back.

 

“But it’s a start. The next piece of the puzzle is in Misthaven. All we need to do is go there.”

 

“You’re suggesting we go there?” Hans asked with some disbelief. Kristoff nodded. “Kristoff, Thomas won’t let me leave, not now. Weselton has their grievances about us and it can’t be for nothing. As we speak they could be waiting to strike at the first weakness we show. And that includes the flight of a prince that wields forces that could turn their country into hell.”

 

“Besides,” Hans continued. “We’ve got a month before we celebrate what could be the most important and not to mention busy day of our lives. You don’t think I need your help planning?”

 

“If you’re that worried about leaving the Southern Isles I can go alone.” When Hans looked unconvinced, Kristoff continued. “Misthaven is only a few day’s journey by ship. You hold down the preparations and I’ll be back soon, two weeks tops. Two weeks of exploring and I’ll be back before you even get a chance to pick the flavor of cake; which will be chocolate, if I could guess.”

 

The prince refused to acknowledge the fact that Kristoff was correct about his jab, another thought entering the young princes mind at the iceman's mention of two weeks. “That’s just what she said to me.” His tone was quiet, subdued, as it still hurt to mention the event.

 

“You’re worried about a ship?” He guessed, and the prince nodded. “Then I’ll take my sled and Fannar. Nothing bad could happen on a sled.” He said despite knowing that there were plenty of things, if not more things that could go wrong on a sled than on a ship.

 

“Kristoff, no. I don’t want you going, at least not now. Can you at least sleep on it?” A long pause followed as the iceman considered the offer, his face etched in deep concentration. After the pause ceased, the blonde nodded his head slowly in understanding.

 

* * *

 

 

Mr. Gold Pawn Broker & Antiquities Dealer was a quaint, one-story building whose bricks were painted a cold turquoise that seemed to belie the owner and the dealings of what went on behind the faded and yellowed closed sign. Red framed doors and windows were dull and near black at night time, the old sign turned off for the night and most likely the rest of the week, or so Hans figured. Honeymoons tended to take a while, or at least Elsa and Pedar’s had.

 

The yellowed blinds reveals the darkened glass cases, eerie shadows dancing along the walls as the thirteenth prince removed the page of the Storybrooke Mirror from his pocket, checking to see if he had the right place. Satisfied after a moment of surveying the place, the auburn haired man strolled up to the front door on the raised sidewalk, not willing to come into contact with one of those strange mechanical beasts once again; at least not when he couldn’t make his glass barriers disappear.

 

Trying the front door, he blatantly ignored the closed sign and drawn blinds like nearly everyone else in Storybrooke did when they needed The Dark One’s assistance, the man even saying himself that when he bought the sign he was simply throwing his money away. When the door didn’t open, the prince looked around the quiet street, the panic after Pepper left having died down.

 

It was strange, but he couldn’t feel a connection to the ash golem despite still keeping his connection with the spritely little Ashley he’d created many years many now. Hans figured with a heavy heart that the poor thing had probably been blown away by a gust of wind or those strange people somehow subdued him with their strange sound magic; or whatever that booming sound was that agitated his bodyguard.

 

He held his hand up, and materialized a pile of ashes that the prince pressed to the gold plated lock. The ash squeezed into the tiny slit that was designed for one or two keys to lift its tumblers and open the door. It molded to the shape within, slowly pushing the tumblers up until five minute clicks later and the door pushed open. Hans withdrew his hand, and the crude key was slipped into his pocket just in case.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, reindeer girl.” Hans seemed to materialize behind the brunette lumberjane. “Talk.”

 

Elsa frowned at the hay strewn ground that was the royal stables, the princes threat meaning absolutely nothing to her. “About?” Her eyebrow raised as she turned to face her auburn haired intruder.

 

“You know exactly what about. You’re the only one with connections to this place; Misthaven.”

 

“I’m afraid,” She tossed her hatchet lightly in her hand. “You’ve got me confused with Pedar. He’s the one with a past worth mentioning, anyway.”

 

“You’re past isn’t what I came to hear, Elsa. Kristoff, on the other hand, I want to talk about.” Hans crossed his arms, a flurry of ash beginning to swirl about his head with anticipated worry and dread.

 

“Kristoff, the groom? You’ve told him about the boots?”

 

Hans glowered at her. “That is besides the matter at hand. Quit stalling lumberjane. Where is Kristoff?”

 

“He went out.” She answered simply as she bent over with some difficulty to pick up a length of rope before beginning the arduous yet mundane task of coiling it for her coming journeys with her husband. Hans flicked a flame between his index finger and thumb as easily as if they were two flints. The temperature in the stable quickly shot up as Elsa felt sweat dripping down her lower back. He wasn’t messing around, but the lumberjane didn’t care.

 

“This is your last warning, Elsa. Tell me the truth.” His voice was low, but hardly threatening.

 

“Or what?” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ll burn down the stables, Thomas, His Majesty watching the whole spectacle? He’d kill you.” She concluded as the thirteenth prince’s resolve seemed to waver. The heat dipped a bit, but it was still plenty cozy within the stables. A few horses whinnied at the difference, skittish to the strange magic unfolding around them.

 

“But I don’t need to burn the stables. I just need to get you to talk.”

 

“And just how are you planning to do that?” The brunette placed a hand on the column, leaning up against it in a near sassy fashion. The iris purple of her dress brushed against the stables hay and wood floor as she placed her other comforting hand on her reindeer Olaf.

 

“I command you to, as prince.” Hans replied with a cocky grin.

 

“And I told you, he went out.” She picked up the now coiled length of rope and hung it on a hook.

 

“Out _where?_ ” Hans took a step closer, bits of hay around his coal black dress shoes blackening like his mood and patience.

 

“He went to the bakers in town. He said we needed more frosting.” Elsa eyes scrolled about the room as if she were trying to look anywhere except the prince. Hans raised an eyebrow.

 

“There is no frosting.” He glared.

 

“Exactly.” Elsa nodded, walking off to the side and taking a basket of apples to her reindeer, the playful spirit stamping his hooves to the ground in anticipation for one of the red beauties.

 

“No, I mean that’s a lie. I haven’t even picked a cake yet.”

 

“It’s not a lie. Besides,” Elsa picked up one of the apples and handed it Olaf, who chomped down happily. “We all know you’re picking a chocolate cake.”

 

“I was not.” Hans stammered. “And that’s not where Kristoff is. Talk, reindeer girl, what are you hiding?”

 

“Nothing.” The lumberjane rolled her eyes, the show of confidence only compounding her guilt. “Wedding details?” She asked as if she didn’t know the answer. Hans crossed his arms, tapping his fingers lightly on his elbow as the young woman became more stressed, cracks appearing in her web of lies. “Look, I was just making sure-”

 

“He wasn’t followed.” Hans finished for her, silencing her with a hand before she could say anything more, and she nodded. “You were a distraction, trying to delay me.”

 

Elsa held a smile again, holding up the basket. “Want one?” She offered, attempting to distract Hans again. The prince snatched one and crushed the heated fruit like a waterskin, dripples of steaming golden cider dripping down his palm and fingers as a final statement to Elsa’s part in this plan.

 

“It’s just a fruit, you know.” She said bluntly as the prince flicked the blackened red skin from his hand and onto the floor.  

 

“Kristoff is going to be envious of that fruit.” Hans growled, raking his hands through his hair and groaning. “The bastard said he would sleep on it!”

 

“He did.”

 

“What?” Hans growled.

 

“He. Did.” The lumberjane repeated. “When I came in he was napping in a pile of hay next to that other reindeer. Sven, I think.” She nodded at the corner she’d found the sleeping ice cutter, suit and all.

 

“Bastard.” Hans repeated under his breath, his face going redder than the basket of apples Elsa had set down on the ground next to Olaf, who struggled to stick his snout through the slits of the gate in a desperate attempt to get them. Elsa let the young royal fume for a moment before he groaned again and focused on her. “Where is he?” He questioned once more, knowing the answer. “Misthaven?”

 

The lumberjane nodded, noticing her friends little struggle and lifting the basket over the wooden gate for the reindeer.

 

“When?” Hans plopped down on a milking stool that sat across from the brunette and her companion.

 

“He booked passage on one of the merchant ships that’s set to be leaving…” She paused. “Any minute now, I think.”  

 

“What?” He shot up from the stool, the heat in the room reaching near the levels of a magma chamber as the water trough began to bubble, steam rising up in chaotic jets.

 

Elsa showed fear, her cooled approach quickly boiling away. “I’m sorry, Prince Hans, I didn’t mean to lie, I just wanted to help. He’s doing it for you.” The temperature dropped suddenly as Olaf grunted loudly behind her.

 

“Olaf, please, I’m trying to apologize.” Elsa spun around to shush him. The reindeer grunted again, kicking the gate as the lumberjane turned again to see that Hans was gone, a trail of embers disappearing out the archway.

 

She groaned as Olaf grunted again, as if to scold her. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” She fumed breaking into as fast a sprint as she could go, but she soon slowed to a waddle.

 

“Hans!” She called out with a somewhat ragged breath, pressing a hand to her stomach, which was engorged. “I really shouldn’t be doing this.” She panted as she struggled to follow the wayward prince to the docks.

 

Hans was already at the docks as a ship sailed out of the crowded Southern Isles harbor, its destination a land called Misthaven. His pale hands gripped at the iron chain barrier that stopped one from falling into the rich, warm sea. A swirl of embers and ashes clouded around his head like some personal flurry, the worried look on his face evident as he clutched the slowly warping chains. The hurried footsteps of the pregnant woman caught his attention for a moment, and the prince turned to face Elsa.

 

“You came all the way down here?” He asked incredulously as she braced herself on a lampost. She nodded, sweat dripping down her brow. “You shouldn’t have. You’re overdue for bedrest anyhow.”

 

“Let. Pedar. Worry.” She panted.

 

Hans quickly turned his attention back to the ship as it sailed away, as if Elsa’s words allowed him to show concern that he obviously had elsewhere. He gazed out at the treacherous and mighty ocean, trepidation mounting as the ship reached the gates. “We need to go after him.” He concluded without breath, looking at the sea with a hungry gaze that Elsa quickly recognized.

 

“Really Hans?” Elsa pleaded. “It’s a Saturday in the middle of September, the highest point for trading in this bay, and you’d be willing to beach every ship?”

 

The prince looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “No, I have more sense than that. But it’s not too late. We can still get him back.” He looked around the harbor at the few empty rowboats.

 

“No.” She walked up to the royal, placing a hand on his arm.

 

“You’re really saying no to your regent, Elsa?” He frowned as the ship left the harbor and went out into the world beyond. He’d watched from his window the same day his mother's ship had left. It had never come back. He could almost see the storm striking again, flashes of lighting reflecting his his vision.

 

“Yeah, I’m saying no to the regent.” She replied. Hans glared at her. “But for a good reason. We both know Kristoff and we both care about him. He’s the one that journeyed up the mountain in a suit and tie during the worst heatwave we’ve ever had; in December no less. He’s resourceful!”

 

“He didn’t have to do this alone. I should’ve sent a scout, or a guard, or something with him if only he’d been patient!” Hans tore away from the pregnant lumberjane.

 

“Yes he did, Hans. You told him yourself, and you were right. The Southern Isles needs you here.”

 

The prince sighed. “And why didn’t you or Pedar go with him?”

 

“Have you been blind for the past eight and a half months, I’m carrying a baby for crying out loud! I can’t even take a walk without getting exhausted!”

 

“Says the girl who won’t take offered and paid bedrest.” Hans shot back. “And what about your husband? He knows about this land, Misthaven.”

 

“He does, but he’s got a price over his head. Do you really think he’d be stupid enough to go back?” Elsa threw a hand out to the ocean that separated the realm from Misthaven. A moment of silence passed between them before Elsa broke it.

 

“He will be fine, Hans. I believe he will be otherwise I would’ve talked him out of this.”

 

“But what if you’re wrong, Elsa? What if this Misthaven is dangerous, what if he gets hurt?”

 

“Kristoff will be fine.” She repeated. “He knows Misthaven about as well as Pedar does anyhow.” The prince snorted as he looked out at the sea, the ship growing smaller and smaller. “Seriously.” She continued. “He’s got connections there.”

 

“He does, doesn’t he?” Hans replied with an incredulous frown.

 

“Well it’s not like he’s told me anything about them. For all I know he’s friends with some king over there.”

 

“A king.” The fire prince paused. “Where is this place? How have I never heard of it?”

 

Elsa crossed her arms. “Well, you might know it better by what it’s inhabitants call it. The Enchanted Forest.”  

 

* * *

 

The inside of Mr. Gold’s shop was lined with objects ranging from anything Hans could’ve imagined would be in a ‘pawn shop.’ Bicycles hung from the ceiling. Mummified dolls of a couple sat across the counter, their wrinkled hands embraced. Vials and jars of strange things sat around the room, their contents casting eerie shadows on the black and white ivy wallpaper. The prince held up the newspaper, looking again at the jewelry box in the picture. He took ten steps up to the front counter and saw a glint in his peripheral vision. The jet black stone sparkled in the outside sources of light as the prince carefully removed the band from its case, observing it in all its splendor. The fire prince held the ring to the light, its familiarity unmistakable. It was the same ring Kristoff had been wearing when he’d last remembered the ice cutter. If it existed, his fiance was out there somewhere.

 

“Don’t worry, Kristoff.” Hans gazed at the promise, his lip starting to twitch from pure morose and determination. This was a vow to him, and one Hans knew he had to fulfill. “I will find you.”    


	2. Burning Strong

_A Long Time Ago In The Enchanted Forest…_

 

The rolling hills of Misthaven were once a familiar sight to Kristoff, the journey his parents had taken the reach the harbors of the Southern Isles passing through the large and ominous forests. He’d remembered running along these hills for but a few months before his mother fell ill and passed on shortly after he’d reached the age of three, Henrik deciding it best to put some distance between his wife's gravestone and himself for not only his trade and future but most of all for his son. In that time the pair had stopped by a farm, requesting to sleep in the barn for the night. The couple that lived there happily obliged and opened their door with welcome hospitality, leaving Kristoff to meet with the couples son, David.

 

As the blonde followed the same path in his often used ice cutting attire, the sun was only beginning its journey into the day’s sky, the bleating of sheep and clucking of a rooster echoing across the shallow divots and valleys of the farm. The place was obviously still being used, and Kristoff hoped that his friend was still there, even after a few years without contact. His father had acted as a messenger, delivering mail between both boys whenever his work took him to Misthaven. That had stopped when Kristoff’s own business fell on hard times with his father’s death.

 

The little cottage was worn, had unsavory colors, and looked as if it had seen better years. The roof had probably been reshingled more than once since the iceman had last seen it when he was fourteen, and the addition of a front porch cover was new, but overall, it looked the same as when he’d helped around for those few days when his father had business elsewhere.

 

Courage in his footsteps, he knocked on the door with his bottom lip tucked under his teeth. A man with long brown hair answered, surprise dawning on his face as he looked over the man who’d knocked on his door.

 

“Kristoff?”

 

“David. It’s been… a while.” The ice cutter sighed as the pair hugged.

 

“Yes, it has.” The shepard nodded. “Come for a visit?”

 

Kristoff fell silent, unsure what he could or should say to the question. Finally, after a brief pause, he nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to catch up, see how things have been going. Maybe stay for a few days?”

 

The shepherds friendly resolve seemed to waver as his his listed to the side ever so slightly. “Alright.” He agreed. “I can tell you’re definitely nervous about something. Is it the wedding?”

 

“Who said anything about a wedding?”

 

“The ring. On your finger.” David motioned the ice cutters hand, a silver ring on the correct finger, a black, opaque stone that glistened in the light of the rising sun. Kristoff seemed to realize he was wearing it, and instinctively lifted his hand up to admire it despite the object giving unnecessary clues to the shepherd. “Who’s lucky girl?”

 

Kristoff felt himself turning red at the question but if David saw this, he didn’t seem to pay it any mind. “Anna.” The iceman quickly blurted out, scolding himself inside for lying again. Lies always had the snowball effect. His long haired friend seemed to catch on to his anxiety and called his bluff.

 

“Alright. Fine. Just… I need to give a false name.” He relented.

 

“Why? Is it a crime to know your bride's name?” The shepherd released a joking chuckle.

 

“Because I’m on a mission for her.” He answered curtly, folding his hands.

 

“A Secret Mission.” David concluded and Kristoff nodded. “What is it?”

 

“Well I can’t tell you, that’s kind of the idea of a secret mission. It’s for your safety and mine.”

 

“You’re wanted?” He asked incredulously and Kristoff very nearly glared.

 

“Look David, I don’t know if I can be any clearer here. Secret Mission, our safety. Got it?” The shepherd nodded. “Good. Now, let’s start this over.” And with that, the iceman proceeded to introduce himself again, asking if he could sleep in the barn.

 

“Sure Kristoff, only if you tell me what’s been going on with you lately. My mother’s going to be happy to see you again. The barn is out back, I’m sure you know where it is. You can stay a few days,” His friendly smile suddenly faded as the sounds of horses hooves and bouncing cart wheels steadily grew louder, and Kristoff turned to face the sound that obviously perturbed the shepherd and from the looks of it, his flock shared his disdain.

 

Two white horses pulled a gleaming white covered carriage, a coachman whipping the beasts to force them to go faster. A second and third man rode on separate horses that flanked the vehicle, all three men having seemingly raided clothes from an ancients king's guard, their black tricorn hats contrasting sharply with the white carriage and its sole occupant. The occupant herself was finely attired in a massive buttercream and pink dress that was seemed overwhelmingly gaudy and somewhat tacky, a silver sheep's crook poised on her lap. Her auburn red hair was styled in a manner that was actually simple compared to the rest of her, the hair held in a clip and rolling over her right shoulder down to her ample and exposed brassiere. Finally, a goofy looking hat was perched atop her head, a massive white feather plume tucked in the band. The look on her face suggested she’d killed the feathers owner with her bare hands.  

 

“Who’s that?” Kristoff asked his friend as he looked at the quickly approaching carriage.

 

“You should probably go back there now.” David said breathlessly, not breaking his somewhat anxious gaze with the carriage and more particularly its pissed looking rider.

 

“But who is that?” He repeated his question.

 

David sighed with irritation. “Someone you don’t want to mess with. They call her Bo Peep.”

 

* * *

 

_Present Day Storybrooke…_

 

Hans looked at the bright orange line that was the Storybrooke town line, a feeling of accomplishment coming over him for some odd reason when this was, more or less the town border. It was simple, bright, and didn’t seem dangerous in the slightest. But the royal knew something so innocuous was most likely there for a reason, and he didn’t want to find out why unless he had to.

 

But for his plans, he didn’t need to cross the line. All he had to do was make sure nobody ever crossed it until he was reunited with his friend, and that required something on a grand scale that Hans wasn’t even sure he knew he was capable of until he tried. With his teeth gritted, the prince raised his hand, with it raising a magnificent wall of black obsidian that sparkled and shimmered in the moonlight. The height tripled in seconds, Hans craning his head as he observed his massive creation grow. A feeling of pride bloomed as the wall rose beyond his line of sight, spikes of glass spurting from the ground as a warning, and he took a step back.

 

But suddenly, a loud crash came to his left, and the royal jumped back as a large tree fell into the road before him, a low buzz coming from the odd looking trunk that was completely devoid of branches. It quickly became clear to him that the now sparking object wasn’t a tree, but some sort of device made for this world. The prince turned back towards the town instinctively, and he saw every light go out. A small smile crossed his features at his success. This would most certainly draw attention, but prior to before, he had a motive. Kristoff was somewhere in this town, and as much as he desired not to, the prince knew he needed leverage and threats like any lord or king would should he ever have a chance at finding his fiance. With bated breath, he ducked behind one of his spikes as a thick layer of sparkling glass covered the surrounding road. Anyone who came by would know something was wrong.

 

He only needed to wait five minutes before lights appeared down the road and a rumbling vehicle crested the small hill. The colors, while hard to see in the dark, were white and a dark brown, a golden star emblem reading ‘Storybrooke Sheriff’ was painted on the side doors and hood. A strange contraption sat atop the vehicle's roof, a red and blue glass box that, like nearly everything else in this town, the prince failed to recognize.

 

He watched in anticipation as the car jolted to a stop, a light blinking on inside the machine to reveal two people, a man and a woman as they stepped out of their vehicle and looked on at his creation with fascination and awe, as most people who saw his creations did. An object was removed from the man's pocket as a beam of white light shined on his wall, trailing up to see how far it went.

 

Crackling branches and leaves sounded as all three people turned to the source of the sound, the blonde woman removing her gun from a holster around her waist, a sharp clicking  echoing as she prepared to do something to whatever or whoever was making the noise.

 

“In case you’re wondering,” A man’s voice said calmly from the trees as he stepped into the moonlight, a lantern in hand. “It goes the whole way around.” The woman lowered her gun as the other man seemed to express distaste to the intruder, voicing his words with a sarcastic tone.

 

The man named Hook lifted the lantern as he walked over to the pair. “I got a distress call from the maiden over there and came as quick as I could.” Hook answered curtly.

 

“I was not distressed,” The blonde seemed to groan at the man in back’s story. “And you’re saying this invisa-wall goes around the entire town?”

 

Hans felt slightly insulted at the nickname the sheriff had given his wall, but buried the feelings, knowing there really were no proper ways to describe his creations that would appeal to him unless he himself came up with the title. The man nodded, and the prince noticed why he had the moniker Hook, the silver implement shining as he gestured to the wall.

 

“So once again, someone doesn’t want us to leave Storybrooke.” The male sheriff concluded with a jaded voice that suggested this happened far too often.

 

“Doing more than keeping us in, by the looks of it.” Hook gestured to the fallen machine, the black strands sparking still. “Guessing that’s what killed the power?”

 

The blonde woman seemed impressed. “Look at you becoming a twenty first century man.” Hans’ eyes opened wide, his knotted stomach tightening as he very nearly stumbled out from his hiding place. Twenty first century? The prince caught his breath and righted himself, hoping he’d get a logical conclusion soon enough.

 

“Looks like whoever built this wasn’t trying to take out the power. It looks like they just put up the wall.” The woman finished her thought with remarkable accuracy. Hans had been trying to put up the wall. A ‘power outage’ as they called it just happened to be an unintended consequence.

 

“But why?” The other man asked breathlessly, a bead of sweat beginning its trail down his forehead, no doubt a result of being near something so warm.

 

“Kill us all, one by one. At least that’s what I’d do.” Hook suggested, the morbid topic bringing silence from both law enforcers. Hans cast an absent minded gaze at his hands, a low glow coming from them. Would it come to that, he wondered for a moment before shaking his head. He vowed with his power long ago he’d never hurt someone with intention again. That would only make him a monster.

 

The male sheriff with a sense of protection and a sarcastic tone walked back to their vehicle, leaving the blonde and Hook to talk about dates and candlelight dinners and how they’d hardly had any time together with what had been going on in the town. Hans stepped into the now melting glass, noticing after a moment he was causing it without even realizing it. He lifted his coal shoe from the black, shiny surface, allowing it to cool as the blonde seemed to get agitated about relationship talk.

 

“Hook, first we need to find out who did this.” She said in a warning tone as she suddenly pulled away from the hook-handed pirate.

 

The prince realized he was saying something, stepping out from behind the wall of obsidian and holding his hands in poised action.

“I did.” He answered curtly as all three people on the scene looked at him with what Hans could only describe as shock. After an uncomfortable stretch of silence, the blonde took a step forward, and the prince instinctively took a step back towards the sanctity of his creation. He knew the wall only the beginning of what he could create. A glow came from his hands as it always did with a possible threat.

 

“Easy,” She looked at him with a slight hint of fear, holding out her hands instinctively as she took another step towards the fire prince. “Who are you?”

 

“My name is Hans.” He answered, his tone icy, the glow in his hand growing from a brick red to scarlet.

 

“Easy, Hans, it’s okay.” The blonde repeated. “My name is Emma.” She paused at the prince stared her down with anxious rage glowing behind the deep brown irises. “Can you tell me what you’re doing out here, does it have something to do with this wall?”

 

“Emma, be careful,” The other man warned as she took another step on the glass, the prince knowing he wasn’t referring to the wall.

 

“I’ve got this, David.” She answered back quietly, turning her attention to the pyrokinetic prince.

 

“I’m looking for someone, a man who I need to find.” Hans answered, a swirl of nervous ashes and embers beginning a slow rotation around his head. He uncoiled his free hand from its fist revealing the ring he’d found in the pawn broker's shop. “This was his, I found it in this store, filled with things, where is he?!” He felt his anger bubbling closer to the surface as the embers glowed brighter with each increasingly ragged breath he took.

 

“I have no idea.” Emma answered. “But before I can help you, you have to help me. To find someone I need more than a ring and a demand. What was his name?”

 

Hans’ mouth opened slightly, his stare growing weak for a moment before he answered the question, a large lump forming in his throat at the acceptance that his fiancee was lost in this strange new world. The prince bit down his stubbornness and self loathing, knowing he needed to tell this sheriff his ice man's name, at the very least.

 

“Kristoff.” His voice was suddenly weak. “His name is Kristoff.”

 

* * *

 

Kristoff looked on with confusion as he stayed put where he was, watching as Ruth walked from the open front door of the cabin to stand beside her son, apparently too anxious to acknowledge her guest as the pair stood like lambs waiting to be led to the slaughter. Bo peep was tall and busty, her silver shepherd's crook tapping the grassy soil almost playfully as she strolled towards the obviously terrified occupants of the farm. Even the flock of downy white sheep stopped their activities to look on at the obviously powerful woman. Kristoff knew David wasn’t one to simply bow his head to anyone or at least, that’s how he remembered him to be.

 

“How ‘bout a saucer of tea, Bo peep?” She emphasized her own name as if insulting them for not bringing her tea when it seemed to honestly be the furthest thing from anyone’s minds except for her own. Her accent was almost like that of a Weseltonian and it made Kristoff even more uncomfortable than he thought he should’ve felt.  

 

“Or how ‘bout a cookie, Bo peep?” She stopped her stroll and balanced her weight on the silver crook, sticking her hip out to the side in a sassy manner that seemed out of place with her dignified appearance and entourage.

 

“You didn’t come here for tea.” David answered, his voice low as though she were superior to him in every way. The iceman has yet to figure that part out yet, but felt a knot forming in his stomach as it dawned on him that he most likely would find out before the pompous woman left.

 

“No, but it certainly would’ve been nice considering I’m the one keeping your farm and this part of the realm safe. I’d say tea and cookies should be the least you can do to thank me.” Bo peep seemed to take notice of the blondes existence as she surveyed the tiny cottage where Kristoff still stood on the porch.

 

“Who’s that?” She pointed the curve of her crook at the guest.

 

A moment of silence passed as neither of them answered her question, for what reason Kristoff didn’t know. “My name is Kristoff.” He answered.

 

“Adorable. Where do you come from, Kristoff?” She flaunted his name as if he were a cherished pet worthy of an adorable name.

 

“This doesn’t concern him, Bo peep. You're here for us.” David interrupted, his head still bowed. The gaudy woman didn’t appreciate being talked back to, and silenced him with some form of magic that made everyone jump at its use. It was as if an invisible hand were choking the man, wrappings its finger round his neck and forcing him to remain silent.

 

“You don’t interrupt me, _shepherd._ ” She scolded with a motion for Kristoff to continue.

 

“I’m from the Southern Isles, Ma’am.” He answered as confidently as he could. Bo peep smiled at him, an eyebrow raised.

 

“You know who I am, boy?” When Kristoff shook his head, her confidence seemed to multiply. “And I’m guessing my sheep here didn’t tell you about me?” She gave a distasteful look to the two farmers before her.

 

“All they told me was you were someone I shouldn’t mess with.” Kristoff echoed his friends warning.

 

“Quite right.” She shot back, her head bobbing forward as if the emphasize her correction. “But do you know why?” Kristoff shook his head again, unwilling to take any risks that could cause him, his friend, Ruth, or his mission any trouble.

 

“Tsk, tsk.” She shook her head at the pair. “I thought you’d by now know who was really in charge here.” Bo peep turned to Kristoff.  

 

“You know what this is?” She motioned to her shepherd's crook, a sleek, silver bodied implement with many bouquets worth of pink shaded roses and baby's breath tied tight around the object with silk of a matching color. Kristoff nodded.

 

“It’s a shepherd's crook.”

 

“Good boy. But do you know what this particular one can do?” He shook his head, unable to think of anything special about the crook which she hadn’t shown him. She smiled deviously. “It’s made me a warlord with a special kind of magic. You’ve got magic in the Southern Isles, don’t you?” The blonde nodded. “Well,” She leaned on her crook in a different manner, propping it in front of her massive hoop skirt. “Why waste the time killing someone when you can brand them, and control them for what they are?”

 

“Sheep,” Kristoff realized, eyeing the crook with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

 

“The boy’s smart, David.” She lowered her head to his bowed one. “You and your mommy should learn a thing or two.” She sneered before turning her attention to the iceman. “Let’s say… this man here,” She motioned to the mute shepherd. “Wanted to pick a fight. All I need to do is tap my crook twice,” Bo peep did the motion as Ruth choked out a scream.

 

David fell to the grass, his arms and legs shivering wildly as they bucked and kicked, Kristoff watching with fearful eyes as Ruth suddenly sobbed. Huge swathes of hazelnut brown wool began covering up his skin as the shepherd changed in many ways. His shouts of agony became bleating, and in mere moments, a brown wooled sheep stood before the group, and it began to munch on the grass at its cloven hooves.

 

“Turn him back!” Ruth begged as she sunk to the ground, coddling the sheep that didn’t seem to notice her presence or emotional connection to it.

 

“But he’s so much more… obedient.” She argued with no sympathy for the sheep or his mother. “And now he’ll be useful, because he’s not only branded, but he knows he has to find his way home to mama. He and his family works off the debt,” She struck the ground a third, fourth, and fifth time, a blast of white came from the brunette sheep and David was on his hands and knees, spitting out half-eaten grass as his mother held him close.

 

“He’s a free man and he’ll always have a reminder to serve me.” She motioned to a David, who realized he had a scar on the back of his hand of a with a curse of pain and irritation. “And if he can’t work off his debt even after a lesson,” She raised her crook in a threatening motion to turn David back into a sheep.

 

“No! No thank you, Ma’am, I get it.” Kristoff stopped her before she could inflict more pain. “I won’t be causing trouble here.” He shook his head as David and Ruth got to their feet.

 

“Now that that’s settled, you know what I’m here for.” She walked over the Ruth. “My payment.”

 

“Extortion is more like it.” David mumbled under his breath.

 

“Call it what you like dear. But you and your…” Bo peep paused as she surveyed the small group. “flock, are safe as long as you pay what’s due.”

 

“It’s--” He paused. “it’s been a slow month. We don’t have it all right now.” He throat was dry, his mother placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. If the warlord was upset by this news, she didn’t show it. In fact, she even looked a bit jaded, as if this had happened many times before and she’d simply grown bored with flying into a rage. She popped her magenta lips in an unladylike fashion as if coming up with a plan at the last second when her position suggested she did these sort of plans often. “Tell you what. I’ll give you until tomorrow at noon to pay back what you owe me.”

 

“Tomorrow. At noon.” David echoed. “You have to give us more time.”

 

“You really think I made my money by waiting, then you don’t even deserve my first offer.” The auburn shepherdess raised her magic crook but David stopped her.

 

“Please,” He gulped. “We’ll take anything else.”

 

Bo peep grinned. “Acting more manly, now aren’t we?” She surveyed the property, her eyes landing on a beautiful brown thoroughbred. “You give me that horse, I’d be glad to offer another day-”

 

“No. We need another deal. That horse doesn’t leave my side.”

 

“Then tomorrow, when I come back; if there’s no payment, you keep the horse.” Her lips pursed. “And I take the farm with two or three new sheep at my estate. You’ll work off your debt through labor, since you can’t be bothered to work hard enough to pay me what’s due. And if Kristoff still wishes to stay the night, he knows it may be his last.” She eyed the blonde with a look of hungry desire that made the ice cutter feel physically nauseous.

 

“Don’t bring him into this, he’s just a traveller. He’s never even lived here, he owes you nothing!” David argued lifting his head for once from its staring contest with the waves of prairie grass. At this Bo peep showed some surprise. Kristoff knew everyone, himself included, expected the warlord to render David’s speech null and void with her silver crook once more, but after a long pause of consideration she didn’t.

 

“Alright, shepherd. I’ll let the blonde be. But our deal still remains. Payment or wool. Which one’s it gonna be?” She feigned guess as David leaned into his mother and began to say something. But if Kristoff could hear them from five feet away, he knew the warlord would hear every tentative breath they took.

 

“Mother, we don’t need this farm. We can run, start over someplace fresh, someplace without a-” He was stopped when the shepherdess slammed her crook into the grass, a powerful white flash erupting from its connection to the ground. Both Ruth and David were thrown back by the vibration, the white glow exclusive to them and them alone.

 

David helped his elderly mother up as Bo peep’s footmen chuckled at their misfortune, and Kristoff waited for the second strike. But when it didn’t come, he found out why. Brands appeared on the mother and son's wrists, an inked symbol of a crook exactly like the warlords that made the both of them whine in pain as if it were being branded into their skin, and it very likely was.

 

“You can’t go anywhere,” Bo peep spat. “You’re branded now. Pay me what’s due and those brands will fade like any free range flock. But if not,” Her grin became devious. “They’ll be the least of your worries.”

 

Awed silence passed between the trio as they observed the warlord in all her glory, the same wicked grin revealing a snaggletooth that peeked out from between two magenta lips. “Pay me what you owe me,” She repeated. “Or this farm and your lives are mine.”

 

With that, the whip cracked again and the taffeta nightmare strolled away back to her carriage, the footmen following behind as all four of them laughed at the coming spectacle that would no doubt be taking place tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

David and Hook came towards the wall, and the sight of them made the thirteenth prince suck in a sharp breath as he raised his hand from its weakened position. They continued much to his fear and anxiousness. Emma obviously realized with the other two didn’t and warned for them to stay still. Hans saw his opportunity and took it, forgetting his fear for the moment as he stepped towards both men.

 

“You will stay back!” He commanded sending a strong, sweat inducing wave of heat towards the two intruders as they were shoved back to the ground. Emma shouted as they both stood back up, obviously determined to defy the pyromaniac's demand. He growled as he prepared to fight again, unwilling to let David end his life with the gun or Hook to end him with his… hook. “This is a matter that you won’t interfere with!” Hans seethed as they were suddenly stopped in their tracks, molten lumps of glass suddenly encasing their feet and halting their advance. The pirate let loose a nasty curse and reached down to his boots with the hook as he began chipping away at the solid black rock. “Come any closer and I won’t hesitate.”

 

“Guys, stay back. I’m just trying to help him find someone.” Emma calmed the pirate and the sheriff. Hans dissolved the glass from the men’s feet, Hook shaking the broken shards from his boots.

 

“Sorry, love. Need you to back away from the pyro.” Hook replied tentatively taking another step. That proved to be a mistake.

 

An angered Hans inhaled sharply and raised his hand, following through on his threat as a wall of spikes instantly began growing and separating the pair as crackling heat radiated from the fresh obsidian and basalt. Vibrations shook the road, asphalt splitting and cracking as volcanic materials clawed their way through the ground. Clunks of sparkling glass chipped at the temperature difference, falling both ways onto David and Hook as well as the prince and Emma. The wall soon reached an insurmountable height as both groups were thrown back from the new barrier, a loud crunching sound erupting from the wall as the new spikes cracked and merged with the rest of it. Silence passed within the newly created cave as Hans realized he was on the ground, ash grinding into his clothes as he pulled himself up and dusted himself off. He kept a stoic face as Emma did the same, brushing the blood from a scrape on her forehead.

 

“That was one hell of a show.” She breathed observing the blood on her fingertips and disregarding it like she could somehow magically heal herself when in Hans’ world a cut even that small could render one dead in a week without proper attention. Maybe it had something to do with this ‘twenty first century thing’. “I’ve got to hand it to you, I’m impressed.”

 

“Funny. You don’t look impressed.” Hans frowned at her.

 

“I am. You want to tell me where that all came from?” She motioned to the prince as if his powers and how they worked were still unclear to her.

 

“You haven’t figured it out? Your pirate man didn’t heed my warning, like he should’ve. I said I wouldn’t hesitate to use my powers and your men didn’t listen.” Hans replied with a stern and commanding tone he’d once mimicked of Thomas whenever the mood struck him. “And not just them. You and your people should know I’m quite powerful, and playing with fire has quite an irritating side effect.”

 

“We’ll be careful, I can guarantee Killian won’t bother you,” Emma offered, her skin beginning to shine with perspiration. “So if you could just… lower this wall we can get right on it.” She stuck a thumb at the wall that was keeping them prisoner in the glass cave, magma pockets in the wall providing a familiar atmosphere for Hans and a disturbing one for the sheriff. Hans looked somewhat stumped at her offer, as if expecting worse behavior or a threat at him through gritted swan white teeth.

 

“I--” He trailed off, a realization striking him like a fire to a rum soaked ship. “Not just yet. Bring me what I want and then I’ll consider freeing you.”

 

“Kristoff? That man?” Emma guessed. Hans nodded, his hands poised on his hips. “Well I can’t very well look for him in here, now can I?”

 

“I never said you would.” Hans shot back. “Your pirate wants you away from me then he’ll be even more enthusiastic to find him.”

 

As if on cue a crackling sound came from the sheriff’s brown leather jacket, a panicked voice coming out from who knew where as the prince raised a cautious, glowing hand. “What is that?” He questioned flatly. Emma pulled out the device, a black brick with a stick protruding from one end as the panicked man continued, the voice sounding slightly familiar.

 

“This?” She waffled before realizing the prince was going to melt it unless she explained. The blonde struggled to come up with a decent way to explain something she so often took for granted. “This,” She started again, pointing at the cave wall. “Allows me to talk to me father on the other side of the wall, but if you wanna melt that,” She motioned to the wall again. “We can all talk this out like civilized people and we can find you Kristoff.”

 

This was the wrong thing to say, indicated by a sudden rise in temperature. Hans looked at the walkie talkie with suspicion, his eyes boring into it as if looking for the magic it held; like some token or conch shell. Finally after a brief pause he focused on Emma again.

 

“My offer still stands, sheriff. I’m not letting you go anywhere, not yet. Not before your pirate father finds me Kristoff. Tell him to.” His tone was threatening, and the glow from his hand indicated he wasn’t bluffing.

 

Emma considered telling him Killian wasn’t her father, but figured she needed to adhere to the fire princes demands, knowing she had no way out otherwise. She held the walkie talkie to her mouth, a humid breath escaping before she pressed the button and began to recite her captors demand.

 

“Dad, can you hear me?” She said into the device.

 

Hook’s voice buzzed over the walkie talkie with a very audible click. “Emma! Swan, say again.”

 

“I’m okay, I’m in here with this guy who calls himself Hans. He’s looking for a man named Kristoff. He thinks he’s in town because of a ring, a ring he found in Gold’s shop.” Emma felt sweat on her lower back as Hans appeared behind her, looking over her shoulder. “He- he wants us to him before-”

 

“Before I burn this town and everyone in it out of existence.” Hans grabbed the sheriff’s wrist and tugged the device toward his mouth to deliver his ultimatum. Silence passed over all four people as the words sunk in on everyone including the man who’d said it.

 

* * *

 

With the pink warlords leave came a period of silence from everyone as they all realized the magnitude of their situation. Kristoff simply stood there until Bo peep’s gilded carriage rolled off the last crested hill, her horses whinnies becoming more and more distant as the bleating sheep overshadowed it. Ruth went back inside, the sound of the rusty water pump coming to life as she took Kristoff’s gatki and cap to wash the scent of smoke and salt out of, seeing the opportunity to busy herself and hopefully forgo worrying of her family's fate by drowning them in lye and suds. The iceman released a nervous breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as David too sighed and went to work, the blonde following him to the barn and around.

 

“Just how long has she been doing all this?” He asked as he lifted a sack of grain over his shoulder, the shepherd not minding the extra hand.

 

“Shortly after my father died.” David answered grabbing a few buckets from the sidewall of the stone structure, the empty stall only being put to use when a fierce gale or snowstorm decided to strike the little house on the prairie. "From what mother told me she was the only one powerful enough to create a standing barrier during the Ogre's War. Something about having that power corrupted her once it was all over. She's been flaunting that power ever since, still collecting that veteran payment when the last fighting she's done was ten years ago."

 

“And what, she just… intimidates you into paying?”

 

“That’s the jist of it, yes.” The long haired man sighed and dropped the buckets in a wheelbarrow as the ice cutter followed him, sack of grain over his massive shoulder.

 

“And now you’re going to give up.” Kristoff guessed casually as they strolled along the grass to the sheep's pen. David grunted as he lifted the wheelbarrow over a bump in the hill.

 

“What choice do I have? Two taps of her crook and I lose everything.” He replied as they both reached the worn wooden fence that seemed flimsy compared to the little cottage, worn branches nailed into place as they had been for the shepherd’s entire life.

 

“David, I’m not going to lie, she is dangerous. She thinks she’s got every card to play, but folding isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

 

“What are you suggesting?” David took the enormous bag of grain from his friends grip and worked open a hole before pouring a bit of their contents into one of the buckets.

 

“That you fight.” The ice cutter responded simply, dusting off a few wheat pieces from his blue shirt. Silence passed for a moment. “You’ve honestly never even thought of it, have you?”

 

“All do respect when a woman can turn you into a sheep with one motion of her hand, fighting is the last thing you want to think of.”

 

Kristoff frowned. “What’s the alternative? Let her manipulate you for the rest of your days? Turn you into a sweater and suck the marrow from your bones the same night?”

 

The shepherd looked solemnly at his flock of pristine white wooled companions, as if he almost could visualize such an event. He blinked, and continued to toss handfuls of golden grain to the bleating animals. “There’s no point.” He shook his head. “Why fight a battle you can’t win?” He questioned morosely and the ice cutter glared.

 

“ _This_ coming from the shepherd who spent two days tracking down an old ewe who’d escaped the pen. Have you lost that much faith in yourself?”

 

“I haven’t lost faith. I’ve kept my senses.” David curtly responded, seeming a little annoyed at the blondes argument. “It’s be better to let it happen than to risk making my situation any worse.”

 

“Losing battle or not, you can’t just surrender. You’d seriously give the taffeta warlord the satisfaction?”

 

“Satisfaction she’ll be getting, by the looks of it.” David concluded as he dumped the rest of the grain into the pen for the sheep to go wild with.

 

“And you’re alright with that? She can either take your dignity and your farm with you just standing idly by like some… some _sheep,_ or you could try to fight and give her hell for it. You’ll lose for sure if you do nothing, but if you do something, anything-”

 

“I’m a shepherd, Kristoff!” David snapped slamming the bucket back into the wheelbarrow with irritation. “Someone picks a fight with me in a tavern or at a market I can defend myself, but Bo peep is a warlord with magic on her side and a private army. What can I even try before she killed me with one word and movement of her hand?”

 

“In a tavern or a market, you use your fists.” Kristoff argued. “Ever thought of a sword?”

 

“Fists, sword, poison apples. I can take a damned flamethrower to her door if I please and still she’ll stop me before I even stain her petticoat. Weapons won’t help me, Kristoff. Not with her.” With that, David gripped the handfuls of the wheelbarrow and began pushing it back over the uneven ground.

 

Kristoff frowned as he stepped in the moving wheelbarrows path, forcing his friend to stop as he put two hands on the end of the wooden trough. “That’s because you don’t have experience. By noon tomorrow I’ll have taught you everything.”

 

The shepherd smiled sarcastically. “Alright iceman, but teaching me how to shave ice for cool beverages isn’t going to be all that useful.”

 

Kristoff glared at his good friend with deep, dark brown eyes. “You need help with a sword, stable boy.” He flaunted the man's occupation and place as if to remind him he was no better off than he was at one point. “And if you want,” He softened a bit. “I can show you.”

 

David smiled with a look of impress. “Who taught you? Henrik?”

 

“No. Believe it or not my soldiers did.” Realization struck his words rather soon after they left his mouth. “I mean, these soldiers I met taught me. Trained me, even. But the point is, I can help you.”

 

“But you’re not going to. You said you wouldn’t get in Bo peep’s way.” The shepherd exclaimed. Kristoff frowned at the waves of grass in the distance.

 

“That was before she threatened you. Nobody messes with my friends, and mission aside, I’m honored to protect your farm and your family.”

 

“Regardless, I don’t want anyone else getting hurt here, especially not one of my friends. Kristoff, did you see what she did? If you help you might end up a member of her flock just as quickly as me and my mother will because to be frank, Bo peep doesn’t tolerate anyone going against her, even an innocent.”

 

“I don’t care what happens to me right now.” The ice cutter admitted. “If you fight her tomorrow you won’t need to worry about your farm, your mother, and more importantly yourself, David. I have a mission to carry out. And if you want to give up, I’ll be out of here before noon tomorrow.” The blonde finished. “And you can enjoy your days as part of her flock.”

 

David looked at the little cottage up the hill only a short distance away, his face tensing a bit in deep thought as he considered his friend’s offer. As much as he hated to admit it Kristoff was right. If he didn’t fight, he’d lose more than the farm or his mother. He’d lose the last shreds of dignity that clung precariously to his damaged and battered body, and David knew he would never give that up so easily. Let her take the farm. He could make a new one. But taking away his manhood; his courage?

 

The shepherd released a tensed breath, relaxing a bit as he nodded. “Okay. We start in an hour.” He concluded with a shove of his wheelbarrow as the iceman gingerly stepped in his path again, his arms crossed. “What?”

 

“You want to fight Bo peep, we can’t waste any time. Every second we spend without a sword we’re one second closer to tomorrow, so get yourself ready. We start now.” The blonde swiftly answered as he nudged the implement to the side to free David from his chores, both knowing that if he didn’t win, he wouldn’t have a farm to do chores for. With a wanton grin, the ice cutter looked on at his pupil as he agreed with slight reluctance, knowing it would be a long road before David was ready to fight a warlord like the ruffled and powerful Bo peep.          

 

Hours later, the pair of men where by the entrance the barn where the only living souls to witness their lessons were the steed and flock of downy white sheep. Kristoff had set his friend up with a sword they’d dug out from an old chest in the loft, the blade a bit dull and rusty compared the ice cutters own but still nonetheless useful in lessons.

 

“Keep your knees and elbows bent,” Kristoff gently reminded David as the two took their stances on opposite ends of the muddy ground that bore a militia of cloven hoofprints. “Keep them close to your body,” He continued as the shepherd rectified his stance. Kristoff commended his efforts quickly before starting the duel with a count of three.

 

David recalled the proper swinging techniques, the amount of power flowing through his right arm swinging the sword at Kristoff’s as both men took a step or two into the center of the ring. Clanging iron and steel echoed in the valley and within David's ears as his movements matched and in few cases improved over the blondes. His hand tightening around the blade, he swung low at the ice cutters knees in an attempt to disarm him, but he was more than prepared, Hans’ soldiers having given him lessons worthy of an aristocrat. He blocked the swing with a grunt, proving to David that he was in fact withholding potential. The shepherd released a growl as he swung the sword up for a clean blow, but Kristoff again blocked his blow with the base of his blade. A look of terror and defeat washed over his stubbled face as David realized he’d made a fatal mistake. The iceman used this and pushed, his own sword grinding against his friends as the duel was cut short by David's sword being thrown from his hand and implanting itself in the hay bale a few feet away.  

 

The shepherd took a few breaths as Kristoff encouraged him to keep going with a compliment on his developing skills. He retrieved his melee from the golden bale and took his stance again, the ice cutter not mentioning any forms of correction which proved he was actually learning something.

 

With a grunt, the long haired shepherd focused his energy into his chest, not his arm, and delivered a slice which Kristoff managed to duck, his deft friend swinging to counteract his sword which David blocked with some effort. The iceman, still ducking, did a roll out of the strike as the sword clanged against the wooden doors of the barn. David struggled to get his stance right as he yanked the weapon from the impaled door, but Kristoff was already three steps ahead. Taking advantage of the shepherds weakened grip, he swung his sword, relieving him of it as it and David fell to the ground, the later panting from exhaustion that was only now beginning to show.

 

Kristoff was also exhausted, but through pants he kicked the sword back to David. “Come on, you had me there. Let’s go again.”

 

David shook his head, a worldless pant escaping his lips. “No.” He shook his head as his breath returned. “We’re done.”

 

“You’re gonna be done if you don’t do this.” Kristoff warned throwing his blade to his side incredulously.

 

“I’m sorry,” David said. “But what good is this doing? You’ve got years of training and so do Bo peeps men. I’ve got twelve hours, and if I can’t beat you how can I beat an army?”

 

Kristoff sighed, pressing a hand to his flushed forehead. “David, years of training are nothing if you don’t finish what you start. I’m still not even on the leaderboard back home with those soldiers.”

 

This was in fact true, as Kristoff had only battled and won a few times. While this earned him some respect, he was still outdone by the majority of them who insisted on practicing with him for an easy mark on their end of the month scorings. It was demeaning, but Kristoff knew he was still a trainee. He had a long way to go before he mastered their techniques and frankly, winning wasn’t that big of a priority with his wedding scheduled in a month's time.

 

“And how is that going to make me feel better?” David groaned.

 

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel better.” Kristoff stated. “I’m trying to say that training comes from practice, not time. If you work at it you can still win tomorrow, even if you might suck right now.”

 

“Gee, thanks.” He replied half-heartedly.

 

“You’re not getting it David. Effort is what you need, and you need it right now.”

 

“It’s a battle I can’t win.” He shook his head. “It’s impossible.”

 

Kristoff groaned. “You’re not getting it, just like I said. It might seem impossible, but if it is you have all the more reason to fight for it. If it’s an easily won battle you don’t fight, you negotiate; do it the easy way.” The shepherd grunted, still unimpressed. “But this, David? This is a hard battle, and that means fighting for it the hard way. These are exactly the kinds of things you need to fight for or else you’ll end up a sheep in her flock!”

 

“That’s just it Kristoff. There are certain battles that just can’t be won even with all the training in the world. You may think you know more but I have experience and know when something can’t be beat.” He focused on Kristoff as his eyes fell to the ground.

 

“You like to give up then.” He responded with a raised eyebrow.

 

“No, I like to survive.” David shot back. “And right now what’s best for me and more importantly my mother is survival.”

 

“I was wrong.” Kristoff answered with sarcastic confidence etched in his tone. “You really like to give up.”

 

David glared at his irritating tutor as he pulled himself to his feet and dusted the grime and straw from his pants. “I’d like to survive past sundown tomorrow.”

 

“And you most likely will,” Kristoff concluded. “But being a slave is surviving, and trust me when I say surviving isn’t living.”

 

David spun around, his tone firm and matter-of-fact. “It’s actually the definition of living.”

 

“David you said I think I know more, and you have missed a hell of a lot since we’ve last seen each other.” Kristoff glared from across the sword fighting ring. “I went through the same thing with someone I know, the same basic situation. He was afraid of something he had that could destroy everything and everyone he cared about. Bad things happened, and when worse came to worst he found himself cornered and he did what you’re doing, he hid.”

 

“But the way he hid was by running away, by abandoning his home and responsibilities. He thought that was the only thing that could save him and everyone; that that was his only solution but it wasn’t. He scraped by and survived but things only got worse for him when he was alone. He needed a push into the real world as a reminder to see that surviving isn’t living and it never could be.”

 

David seemed unconvinced. “And you were the one that gave him that push.”

 

“I almost killed myself and him doing it but yeah, I did.” His eyes darkened for a moment, his expression pointing out the seriousness of the situation. “It was a lesson for both of us and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

“That’s a nice story Kristoff, but your friend and I are two very different people.” He remarked with a grave voice.

 

“Different or not, the moral of the story is still there. Don’t you see? If you give up tomorrow you’ll be doing the exact same thing. You’ll survive, but you won’t live and you never can.”

 

The shepherd seemed to contemplate Kristoff’s words of wisdom for a moment for saying the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. “I’ll lose everything if I fight.” He began to walk away.

 

“David, no! You’re not shutting me out until you hear what i have to say. You’ll lose even more if you don’t fight, you’ll lose your dignity. And that can’t ever be replaced.” Kristoff took a step forward to follow his friend. David continued walking.

 

“Dignity doesn’t matter anymore, what matters is my family.”

 

“You won’t even have _that_ if you let Bo peep win! She’ll work you both until one of you dies to pay the price!” The iceman looked as David stopped to face the argument.

 

“Let me be the judge of what loss I can take!” He snapped.

 

“Will you stop being so stubborn about this?!” Kristoff impaled the printed mud, his sword blade twisting in his tightening grip. “Knowing about loss and experiencing it doesn’t mean you know what loss really is or what you can take. You’re just afraid you won’t be able to handle it!”

 

“I don’t know loss? Kristoff you and I both know better than anyone what loss is!” The shepherd argued.

 

“You don’t know loss, David, not like I do.” The ice cutter growled.

 

“I think I know exactly what loss is!”

 

“No, you don’t!” Kristoff shouted. “If you did you would see exactly what I’m talking about.” The shepherd didn’t respond, suggesting that he wanted to hear Kristoff’s words. “When I lost my father and my best friend I thought for sure that I couldn’t recover from it. I became a recluse; I hid. But after a while I realized I was holding the pain in and that I needed to let go of that loss if I ever wanted to be happy again. I did let go and accepted the loss for what it was. It was something I had to do and it nearly killed me but in the end my life turned around. I got a suitor, I got engaged, I got a decent life out of it. And that, my friend, is how I know loss.” He finally concluded.

 

David seemed moved by his experience and looked to the ground for a brief moment. “My loss taught me a lesson, Kristoff.” He answered after a moment. “It’s that some things can’t be forgotten because the pain _is_ the lesson.”

 

“I think that’s cowardice!” The iceman finally snapped. David fell silent, shocked at his friend's words, knowing a coward was a serious insult in the land of the Enchanted Forest. Kristoff seemed slightly surprised by his own words as well. “Well I mean… it is. I mean that.” He attempted to correct himself before deciding it was probably the best thing to bring to light.

 

“I have a story to tell too, Kristoff. You weren’t the only one who was busy. Did I ever tell you how my father died?” He seemed breathless from recalling the memory to mind. Kristoff shook his head, the knowledge of the shepherds father having been slim as he’d died in the increments between letters, no hints being given as to why.

 

“When I wrote that letter I didn’t tell you everything. My father and mother began fighting shortly after I turned six. I awoke not to a rooster but to them going at it, mostly over the same thing.”

 

“His drinking.” Kristoff realized, David confirming his suspicions with a nod.

 

“He went to the tavern every night shelling out family gold for the best ale he could get. He traded wool for wine some of the time. It was a problem my mother and him would always squabble over and it would get put to bed only to be brought out the next morning in full swing. But one time I awoke and listened in on the words.

 

This time it was different. I heard my father not yelling, but crying. He admitted he was weak. He admitted he was failing my mother and me. But through his shaming he said words to her I won’t ever forget. He said ‘I will beat this.’; he said ‘I have to do better for you and my boy. I have to be different; I have to stop. I have to stop before my problem costs me everything I hold dear.’ And he promised, he vowed to her that he would.”  

 

With that, David sat down and released a sigh as Kristoff released his grip on the sword, more interested in hearing this story at the moment. “And he stayed true to his word. My father stayed from the tavern and helped around the farm, helped me learn to care for the flock. But then it happened.” His gaze fell to the ground. “Every few months we needed supplies, it was a two week journey. Usually one that was a two week bender.” He chuckled slightly, a small smile twitching at his lips at the memory. It quickly faded.

 

“But this time my father had his promise. And he swore to the both of us he wouldn’t touch a drop and by the end of the journey his dependency would be gone and we could be a family. And for every day of those two weeks I woke up with a smile on my face, knowing he was changing for me; for us.”

 

“Knowing that’d he’d come home and we could be a family. And on the fourteenth day, I heard a knock at the door and I ran to open it. But instead of my father I saw the local constable, asking for my mother.” He sighed. “Yeah, my father fought his battle, and for thirteen days he won. But on the fourteenth, he spent his last night in a tavern trading the supplies one by one for more ale. They found his body in the bottom of a ravine, in the wreckage of our empty cart.” His licked his lips. “Some battles can’t be won, and some losses can’t be forgotten. Not when there are certain forces at play.”                  

 

With that he stood up and began to walk towards the sheep pen, his head low in defeat. “He was a lousy father.” Kristoff concluded, only realizing what he said after it left his mouth and David stopped in his tracks. “I mean he might have been weak, he might’ve given up. But that doesn’t mean that you aren’t strong, that you can’t win.”

 

“You don’t know that.” David said refusing to face his friend.

 

“But I know David.” The iceman answered curtly. “And I know that David wouldn’t stand down from a fight unless he had no faith left in his body. I know that that courage is in there somewhere.” He looked sadly at the lone shepherd. “I just needed a place to spend the night for the mission.” He went on. “But if you want to, meet me in the barn tomorrow morning and I can stay; I can help you fight.”

 

“But if you don’t,” Kristoff could hardly say his next words knowing he wouldn’t follow through on them easily. “Then I’ll just be on my way, and you can survive.”

 

With that, the ice cutter walked away, abandoning his sword for the barn and a full night's rest that he knew David would need as well, no matter what he eventually chose to do. David remained where he was, his face in relaxed concentration as he was left alone to consider what was truly at stake.

 

* * *

 

Emma Swan ground her boots into the volcanic rock, the beauty of the cave before her serving as a minor distraction as she slowly began to suffer from heat exposure. Lava and magma was infused in the blackened walls, giving a soft orange glow the gave the area a comforting atmosphere that was only offset by the sounds of bubbling molten glass and unbearable warmth. She’d never been one for heatwaves and personally didn’t appreciate being slowly cooked to death. She peeled off her now damp leather jacket and hung it on a stalagmite of glass, the man before her not objecting to her stripping despite not showing the slightest bit of interest in her curves or cleavage. It was a blessing though, considering she would rather spontaneously combust than strip in front of this man.

 

If fact, the auburn haired man seemed completely indifferent to nearly everything in the cave, including the temperature. Not one drop of sweat trailed down his face, which was still gaunt and pale despite the area being the temperature of a confectionery oven.

 

“How?” Emma swallowed. Hans looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “How are you not hot?”

 

He breathed. “It’s never bothered me. Consider it a preview.”

 

“Of what’s to come? Burning this town to the ground won’t make Kristoff appear.” Emma scowled at him. Hans returned the look, and the sheriff swore the room became a few degrees hotter because of her comment.

 

“No it won’t.” He admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

 

“Look, I want to find him and I’m sure my family is trying.” Emma panted. “But the other day we found something we call an ash monster running around town. I’m assuming that was you?”

 

“Pepper? He’s harmless unless you provoke him. Last night I lost connection with him and I’m assuming you… took care of him?” Hans guessed. Emma nodded.

 

“Unless you made two, that was Pepper.” She tried the name and found it somewhat fitting. “But why,” She swallowed. “why did you make it?”

 

Hans narrowed his gaze, knowing his creation had been unintentional. But he couldn’t reveal that. If he wasn’t in control of his powers he wasn’t about to feed the sheriff, his hostage that sort of information. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.” He answered curtly.

 

“I can tell you would, that goes without saying. But why? What’s so important about this man you’re willing to hold me captive and threaten an entire town?” Emma fanned herself with her top, the cool recirculating air a blessing in the insufferably hot cave.

 

Hans didn’t seemed amused when he answered. “I don’t need to tell you anything, sheriff.”

 

“Actually, if you want us to find Kristoff anything about him would be helpful. His last name, his hair color,” Emma listed off the possibilities. “hell, even his foot size would be useful.”

 

“Bjorgman, blonde, and size 14.5 boots.” Hans riled off.

 

Emma’s head listed to the side a bit in perplexion. “That was just a suggestion.” She replied. “and how would you know his foot size?” She seemed curious.

 

“We know each other.” He answered quickly turning to the side and gazing out at the wall before him with a twinge of fear in his copper brown eyes. The sheriff took a step closer to him.

 

“Yeah, and I know a lot of people but I don’t get invested in their foot size. Really, Hans, who is Kristoff to you?”

 

Silence passed for a long period of time before Emma considered the options, the prince's gaze falling to the floor. Emma recognized that face from Henry when he was truly ashamed of something he’d done.

 

“Brother?” She guessed. Hans shook his head. “Family?” Hans stifled a wry laugh.

 

“Try fiance.” He replied bluntly.

 

Emma looked at him in confusion as the room seemed to grow warmer. Hans prepared himself for the jeers, the scorning, the curses and guarantees of hell or worse as so many people had oh-so-politely told him back home. But the sheriff simply answered with a sigh.

 

“Alright then. I can see that.” The pieces suddenly seemed to fit together. The ring, the attitude, the knowledge of a significant other. Her eyes on the floor, she saw a glint in a crack of glass, the silver winking up at her. “I’m sorry about his ring, though.”

 

Hans’ head shot up in shock as he opened both hands and he realized he was no longer holding it. A tropical breeze blew through the cave and Emma panted, buckets of sweat rolling down her arms and legs as she contemplated whether dignity was worth anything in the heat that she obviously couldn’t take.

 

“What?!” His voice of alarm echoed through the cave. “Where is it?” He looked around frantically.

 

“It fell.” Emma answered pointing a finger at the crack where she’d seen the silver band with its black stone glinting in the firelight. “Into that crack there,”

 

Hans followed her finger to the crack she was pointing at, and saw the ring. His eyes went wide as he bent down to get closer, as if not believing her words even if the proof was right before his eyes.  

 

“You can melt it down, get it back,” Emma offered with a pant. “Keep going, and we could take this conversation someplace colder.”

 

Hans broke his eyes from the wedding ring and focused on Swan. His hands tucked into themselves as if he knew he could get it back through melting the glass, but when he looked away from Emma and at the wall, his fatal mistake showed.

 

“You can’t control it, can you?” Emma guessed as Hans turned to face her with a withering frown. Yet he didn’t disprove his claim or deny it, and the sheriff continued.

 

“What you said to David on the walkie talkie-- It wasn’t a threat.” Emma concluded. “It was a warning, because you can’t control what you’re doing.”

 

Hans continued to scowl at her with darkened eyes as his fists began to glow. “It was both. What makes you think you know me?” He snipped.

 

“I don’t know you but I know me.” Emma replied with a dry breath. “And I have powers too. I’m not great at controlling them. And it looks to me like you’re the same way.”

 

He seemed put off by her accusation, but this only strengthened it. “You…” He trailed off gesturing to the sheriff. “You have magic?” He found it hard to fathom. “To be honest you don’t seem magic. You seem perfectly ordinary to me.”

 

“I wish.” Emma sighed.

 

Hans closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out before making his next move. “Kristoff, he helps. He always has.” He admitted.

 

“So if we can find him-” Emma began with realization dawning on her face. Hans nodded.

 

“He can help me undo this. We can get rid of this-” He gestured to the walls of sparkling black glass round him. “All of this, the wall,” He enthusiasm seemed to dull a bit. “When he’s here, of course.”

 

Emma turned away and walked up to the wall, looking at her reflection that made her prison days look like runway models. “Well,” She panted unable to look at herself anymore. “He’s not.”

 

“But when he gets here,”

 

“You’ll let me go, I know. Problem is we don’t have much of a clue right now and I don’t know about you but I’m probably not going to survive much longer in here.”

 

“Well then if you _are_ magic,” Hans crossed his arms as the blonde turned to face him. Killing the hostage wasn’t part of his plan. None of this was. But now she had magic, and that was a valuable thing indeed. “Maybe you can help me undo this.” He said hopefully.

 

“I’ve, I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying to keep myself cool and I’m starting to feel a little dizzy.” She sighed, breathing deeply as she held her hands in front of her, attempting to call her magic into the world. a moment passed as Hans looked at her hands.

 

“Is nothing supposed to happen?” He question with skepticism and fear itching into his voice.

 

“No. But see?” Emma looked at the fire prince. “I don’t have control over it either. I’m just so tired.”

 

“Swan, no.” Hans reached an arm out to her to stop her from collapsing. “Don’t lie down. Tell me more.” He knew he had to prolong her death, keep her alive despite the deliriousness that came from heatstroke. “Were you born with magic, or cursed?” He helped her sit up.

 

“Th-those are my two options?” She paused for a moment with a pant. “Born, I guess. I was raised in a place without magic and, um…” She swallowed. “I didn’t know I had th-these powers until recently, and I didn’t have any family to help me with them.”

 

“Family doesn’t always help.” The auburn admitted sadly. “I’ve had these powers since birth. I knew about them and only a few in my family did. I don’t know where they came from and neither did they, but they thought it best I be isolated until I could control them. I ended up prince over a large land; completely unprepared.”

 

“I hear you with ‘unprepared.’” Emma nodded in agreement. “I’m - get this - a Savior. I’m still not sure what the hell that means.” She almost chuckled until her throat grew dry.

 

“Sometimes it all feels like too much, I bet.” The prince lamented. “Even just trying to control it for the others only ends up pushing you further away. And part of it is, I’m the only one I’ve ever heard of that’s got powers like mine.”

 

Emma panted. “That’s gotta be lonely.” She admitted and Hans knew it was.

 

He frowned at the cave he’d created to keep her here, away from her own loved ones as a hostage and she was slowly dying because of him. He’d vowed to never use his powers to hurt someone again, and he felt remorse washing over him for doing this even if it seemed for the best.

 

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly. “I didn’t mean for this to go so far.”

 

“I know you didn’t,” Emma replied weakly as she leaned back on the ground. Her eyes closed as she struggled to keep her body from overheating. Hans’ eyes shot open as it became apparent she was much closer to death than he thought. The last thing she heard was the prince calling her name as she closed her eyes and rested, knowing she wasn’t going to make it out of this unless David and Hook were quick to find Kristoff.

 

Her eyes leeched open as Hans was shaking her. “Emma, don’t sleep. Tell me more about yourself, about your family.”

 

“You only want me to keep talking because if I don’t I’ll die.” She stated with a cracking voice.

 

Hans tensed. “Yes, that’s kind of the idea.”

 

“Right now, I just want to rest.” She lowered her head to the ground and Hans pleaded for her to stay with him, to hang on just a little longer.

 

* * *

 

“Kristoff?” He stepped into the hay strewn barn, the light coming in through the windows doing little to dissuade the darkness from leaving its daytime sanctuary. The rays of dawn had dissipated less than an hour sooner and that was also the time David had his mind made up. There were some lessons to be remembered, and some battles couldn’t be won.

 

No answer greeted his call, and David took another step into the barn. “Kristoff, I’m sorry but I can’t fight. We can’t win this, not with an army.”

 

Silence again as he didn’t see his blonde friend on the first floor, the only occupant hearing his words that he knew of was the horse, who brayed softly by the piles of golden straw. The loft having been his left best option, David walked over to the latter and looked up into the loft where no hay resided.

 

“You need to go, before Bo peep gets here and decides you’re worth taking. I bought some provisions,” He held up a burlap sack heavy with enough food to last his friend a few days, his mother helping him finish the bundle with a few of prized books, knowing at the rate things were going that sheep were illiterate, and she would rather Bo peep not get her hands on some of the things in her cottage. “But you need get out of here now so you can save yourself.”

 

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that, _shepherd._ ”

 

The voice was unmistakable. David felt himself growling as the weight of those words pinned him where he stood, the sack of provisions tightening in his vise-like grip. Bo peep stepped out from behind a fence and column of an old pen whose gate had failed long ago and was never replaced. The dark stone wall contrasted heavily with her rose pink dress and taffeta skirts died a light burgundy in a pattern that was as tacky and colorful as a piece of old ribbon candy.

 

Her crook was held at arm’s length, her weight leaning on it as she strolled to face her enemy, a cocky and knowing grin itching on her middle aged features. She wore the same goofy hat as the day before, the plume reduced by nearly six inches. It suddenly made sense why Kristoff wasn’t answering him earlier and coincidentally hadn’t shown up for breakfast.

 

“What did you do to Kristoff?” He questioned breathlessly.

 

Bo peep’s grin grew wider and a soft cackle edged in her voice. “Strange,” She remarked. “I swear I thought he wouldn’t cause me trouble.” Her laugh became more audible as David’s face turned white as a sheet.

 

“You were spying on us.” He deadpanned as a lump welled up in his throat.

 

The shepherdess waggled a finger out in the direction of the field. “You’d honestly think I don’t brand what I’m known for? And here I would’ve thought you’d notice the extra sheep.”

 

“You said you would leave him alone.” David took a step towards her, a fraction of his fear becoming vengeful. A movement of the silver crook stopped him.

 

“And he said he wouldn’t be any trouble.” Bo peep shot back nonchalantly. “No matter. Two taps of my crook and he was as docile as a little lamb.”

 

David felt his jaw drop, imagining the ice cutter reduced to a blonde sheep in under two seconds. He had no feeling in his legs and arms as the sack of provisions fell to the ground, shock slamming into him like a farmer's plow.

 

Finally, after a moment of dryness, David found his voice again. “Where is he?”

 

The auburn haired shepherdess took a step towards the peasant. “I’ve got him where he can’t get out and get himself in trouble. And here I thought you’d be happy. He’s survived, at least.” With that, her right hand was spread as David realized she was wearing his friends engagement ring, the black opaque stone glittering as she marveled the ring on her finger. He also noticed it seemed loose, and Bo peep must’ve as well.

 

“I will admit though, your friend had some awfully large fingers. But don’t worry.” She kissed the gem of the ring with garish pink lips. “I’ll keep this warm for him.”

 

“Give that back.” David breathed.

 

“Afraid I can’t lambkins.” Bo peep frowned as sap dripped from her tone like maple syrup. “He wants this back, he’ll take it himself after working.”

 

“He doesn’t owe you anything.” The shepherd snarled. If the lady seemed put off by this show of anger, she didn’t make an attempt to reveal it.

 

“Now he does.” She countered. “He owes me for trying to mess up my orderly system. He’s got a long time to go. And even if he does escape, he’ll come home. They always do.”

 

“Because you branded him.” He concluded.

 

“Bingo, shepherd. Even if he does run, he’s been branded. I can find him wherever he travels. Forever,” She glanced at the ring. “And always.” She grinned at David once more.

 

“I suppose I should thank you though.” She admitted solemly. David gulped and asked what for. “For making your friend think you would fight. If you hadn’t made him break his deal with me ‘bout not causing trouble, he might’ve just walked away. We don’t got a lot of blonde sheep on the estate, and certainly never had one who was so strong, lean. Who knows? After we work him we might just save him for a special occasion. Golden wool muffs and broiled lamb, I can definitely see it now.” Her pearly white teeth curved into a devious grin that made David feel physically sick.

 

“So now that he’s gone, all that’s left is that…” She trailed off and looked at the rising sun. “Four hours you have left before I come back for my payment.” Beneath his shell the shepherd quivered. This was so far the worst day of his life and it wasn’t even eight fifteen.

 

“Spend it wisely shepherd. You know the drill. You and your mummy pay,” She began to leave as David watches her leave his barn. “Or hand over your farm.”

 

And with that, the shepherd watched as the woman disappeared over the hills, leaving him only three hours and fifty five minutes to decide what he needed to do.

 

***

 

The Chop Shop was a small, Mom & Pop organization, like most businesses in Storybrooke. Its brick and wooden facade, at night, usually had a buzzing neon sign that pointed to its existence. But again, like most businesses in Storybrooke, that neon was dark, and the closed sign was flipped in the frosted glass door. This hardly stopped David from walking in, the whistling of a meat cleaver greeting him. A sweaty middle aged woman, who was busy hacking away at a rack of lamb ribs, only bothered to acknowledge her old enemies appearance with a few words before going back to chopping with her cleaver, a begrudging look on her face.

 

“Sorry, lambkins. We’re closed.” She drawled as the knife embedded itself in the cutting board.

 

The interior of the butchers was made of clean, white tiles that lined the lower half of the walls, a cream colored paint continuing after. The floor was checkered linoleum, and with only the light of a few candles in the room, the woman seemed to give the dirty floor a run for its money.

 

Her auburn red hair was swept back in an old hairnet, frazzled bits and strands escaping every few inches. Her once garish outfit was now a dirty white apron with stains of gore and blood on it. Her jacket collar was wilted and stained with sweat in the balmy interior. Her scowl made her look as if she were taking out her anger on the rack of lamb, imagining it to be whatever or whoever caused the power outage.

 

“I can tell this blackout is getting to you.” James observed the silent and still machines that would render her work as a butcher obsolete.

 

“What’s it to you, _shepherd?_ ” She slammed the cleaver down into the chopping block. “You come here to gloat?” Her tone was annoyed, as if trying to convince herself she was still better than him when she knew she wasn’t.

 

David shook his head. “I came because I need your help.”

 

Bo peep stopped her mincing and looked up at the man before her, leaning on things a definite habit she’d kept since the first and second curse. Her cleaver was still in her hand, glinting in the candlelight.  “Is that right?” She questioned with boredom dripping from her tone. David nodded.

 

“I need your help to find someone, someone you branded.” He faced her by leaning both arms on a dry spot of the wooden surface. Bo peep frowned at him.

 

“In case you ‘aven’t noticed I’m not in the branding business anymore. I don’t brand sheep. I slaughter ‘em.” She stated indicating to the ribs of lamb.

 

“You didn’t kill this one because you know exactly who I’m talking about.” David countered.

 

“Do I?” She drawled.

 

“He was from the Southern Isles back in our land, his name was Kristoff.”

 

A moment of silence passed before the former shepherdess shook her head. “Not ringing a bell. Maybe you should try somewhere that actually keeps a record book, lambkins.”

 

With that, she pulled herself up and resumed her butchering, the cling of the cleaver echoing in the shop. David wasn’t satisfied with this answer and proved it with a cold glare. “You do know. But you’re not saying.”

 

“And even if I could,” Bo peep shrugged. “You and me, we ain’t friends.”

 

“This isn’t just one of your sheep, Bo peep. It’s another human being.”

 

“Not interested.” She replied with darkened eyes. “Get out, unless you want to lose one of those pretty little fingers. Our deal means nothing in this world.” She waved the sharpened blade as David’s hands that still rested on the chopping block.

 

David removed his hands from the danger but didn’t move otherwise. Instead, he put his hands on his hips like the warlord used to, confidence running through his veins. “You don’t have your helpers around, Bo peep.” He reminded her.

 

The butcher seemed agitated at this, but didn’t make any drastic moves. Instead, she spoke.

 

“You’re right.” She admitted. “But I don’t need an army here, sheriff. Not as long as my profession keeps meat on the table. I just have one.” Her dark eyes glanced at the shining cleaver, her reflection in the polished stainless steel ominous and dangerous, just like the woman she once was. “Why don’t you say hello?”

 

Her lips puckered as she prepared to attack the prince with her butchers knife, ending him before he caused trouble. But before she could do anything Hook appeared behind her from the back room, his hand encircling her cleaver wielding arm as he warned her to not do it. She grunted and struggled in the dirty pirates grip as David walked around the butcher's block and relieved her of the weapon, tossing it far from her reach. The cold click of handcuffs left her powerless as the sheriff grabbed the middle aged warlord and pressed her back against a silent meat oven.

 

Her breathing was ragged and her dark eyes brooded into him, but David wasn’t intimidated like he had been once. “My daughter is in trouble, and I need to find someone who can help her, Kristoff.”

 

Her grin was mocking. “Do I look like I keep a record book? ‘Cause I don’t. Try the mayor’s office, shepherd. Or better yet, the sheriff’s station. I hear they’re quite good at looking for missing people.”

 

“You don’t get to insult me, _butcher,_ not here.” David growled. “Hook,” He called the pirate to his attention. “Search the back room. We’re looking for a shepherd's crook.” A newfound rage overtook the collected slaughterer and she began to struggle, a nasty glare surfacing as Hook went through the back room. “You know exactly what we’re looking for.” David looked at her knowingly. “And you can either tell us now, or let us look.”

 

“I don’t know where your iceman is, but I do know that crook is my personal property!” She spat as Hook appeared from the room, a silver crook in hand with the same bouquet of roses and baby’s breath laced delicately around it.

 

“We got it.” The prince confirmed.

 

Bo peep struggled against the rings of steel that bound her. “So in this world you’re a hero too?” She snarled.

 

David turned to face her, knowing she couldn’t hurt him here. With minimal effort he moved the cuffs so they were wrapped around the door handle of the oven. He then removed the key and placed it on the counter next to her. “Get the key, you get out.”

 

“This ain’t legal! I demand you unlock these from my wrists this instant!” The former shepherdess shouted angrily as the cuffs rattled from her attempt to escape.

 

“It’s perfectly legal.” Charming grinned. “And in this world, I don’t have to answer to you.” A crackling over the walkie talkie echoed in the shop as the pirate pressed it to his ear.

 

“It’s the pyro. He says Emma’s passed out and is burning up.” He reported with a sense of worry in his tone.

 

* * *

 

 

“High noon,” Bo peep observed from her daybed beneath the shade of her gazebo, the lowly shepherd David standing before her with his hands folded compliantly, her men standing guard. “Right on time.”

 

Her beady eyes listed to the sword hilt attached to his brown leather belt. “I take it you haven’t got my money?” She guessed before sitting up and standing to her full height, on par with her victim.

 

“Sorry.” David replied in a tone that suggested he was anything but sorry. A small, knowing smile twitched at the corners of his stubbled lips, a dark gleam in his eyes.

 

Bo peep smiled at him. “You’re not actually considering fighting, are you?” She strolled over to the ivy laced column, leaning into the gossamer white curtains that flanked every archway. “You know you can’t win, even with what the iceman taught you. Need I remind you what happens when people cross me?”

 

David glared at her, knowing he had every chance to prove her wrong. “You don’t Bo peep.” He answered. “But we both know you’re not going to just turn me into a sheep now.”

 

The shepherdess looked at him with a mundane sigh. “You’re right. It’d be better to break you first.” She declared. “Boys.” She looked to her guards who on que removed their gleaming swords from their scabbards.

 

But courage coursed through the poor man’s veins as his own melee was torn from its casing and swung at the man behind him, who fumbled to recover and fell back. This left the shepherd no longer outnumbered for the moment as he set to work subduing the other guard who was on par with nearly every swing, eventually forcing David to his knees just as the other guard recovered and made a violent attempt to embed his weapon in the man's head. This failed, however, leaving three swords scraping against one another as David was beneath the danger like he was within a tent. With strength and might blistering in his actions he forced both of them off before delivering a blow with his elbow to the guard from behind, a loud crack echoing as blood began to gush from his broken jaw. The other man was subdued for a moment by a punch to his stomach, but got up after moment and swung what should’ve been a killing blow. Instead, David lept onto the ivy doused railing and delivered a kick to the man's face, making him fall back in a spill of his own blood.

 

Bo peep let loose a low whistle behind her scowl. “I do hate it when blood stains the uniform.” She remarked as she picked up her crook, caressing it with wrinkled rosy fingers. “But you don’t have to worry, shepherd. I can pay for the dry cleaning with your meat on the market.”

 

“It’s one on one, Bo peep.” David panted. “You afraid to mess that pretty little dress of yours?”

 

Bo peep cackled. “I’m not afraid of you, shepherd. You may have outsmarted my men but you forget who’s the warlord around here.” She then removed one of her mens swords from him, knowing he wouldn’t need it again.

 

“You know swordfighting?” David’s fear was slightly visible but still well camouflaged. This didn’t work on the warlord, who seemed to relish in her opponents cowardice.

 

“Course I do.” She took her stance. “You honestly think I let the crook do all my work for me?”

 

David didn’t know how to answer. From his experience she always used her magic to settle problems. It hit him then just how afraid and weak he’d become. This woman never had to use real force so long as he was docile as a lamb. Bo peep took her first swing, which was barely blocked by David’s blade. The clanging of iron echoed across the grassy compound at the duel truly began. Each slice of steel was blocked as the fighting went on, neither of them gaining ground. It was obvious to David that the shepherdess was more than trained in this field whereas he was but a novice. He couldn’t win this fight.

 

But something in him had snapped when she’d taken his friend, an innocent, to be worked like a slave for helping him. He couldn’t win, but that didn’t mean he could let Bo peep beat him, and he couldn’t let her win after all the pain and loss he’d suffered under her hand and crook as a sheep to her flock of people who had given up. It was an impossible battle, but he had to fight it. Not for his farm, not for his mother, or even for Kristoff. He had to fight for himself.

 

A newfound confidence overtook David as he matched every swing, slice and movement his enemy was showing, and she was obviously unnerved by this show of strength. Perhaps she was even afraid. He had to use it, and he took the opportunity. Little by little the warlords blows weakened. David was sure he could defeat this goliath. Victory was within his reach. But Bo peep suddenly delivered a blow that separated David from his melee, the rusted weapon skidding along the grass and far from the shepherds reach. Her blade was an inch from his jugular, visible signs of exhaustion coming from Bo peep. Despite this, a confident grin formed.

 

“See?” She panted. “I told you, you can’t win.”   

 

A flashback rushed before his eyes as his battle with Kristoff revisited, how he’d failed to win the last time, how the ice cutter had beaten him.

 

“Actually,” He tucked his head into his knees and ducked a decapitating blow as he somersaulted to his weapon, his hand gripping the hilt as he placed her in a hold that could render her dead in a single movement of his wrist. “Maybe I can.”    

 

The auburn haired warlord growled and delivered a kick to his shin, causing him to drop his sword to her feet as he stumbled back towards the sheep's pens, the bloodthirsty woman lunging for him and tackling him to the ground. Grass stains littered their skin and outfits as a well timed elbow to the corset-bound ribcage made her hiss in pain and drop his weapon. The pair rolled around the grounds before David realized where they were.

 

She regained her sword and her posture as she rocketed to her feet, his back against the pens gates as sheep clustered at the entrance, bleating at the intruder. As she held the sword in its previous position, knowing the only other sword was too far away for David to repeat his little ambush.

 

“They say a shepherd naps with his sheep.” She snarled. “I suppose your sleep will be quite permanent.”

 

But David wasn’t going to give up there. He had the smallest of a plan forming and snowballing as his hand clambered along the splintered wood, looking for the latch of the gate to the pen. The rusted metal dug into his hand as she slowly pressed the blade into his neck, David grinding his teeth in agony.

 

“Any last words?” She questioned just as David felt the latch come undone. The gate creaked a small amount but that couldn’t be heard over the sudden movement of sheep. However, he kept the gate closed with one hand.

 

“Good luck finding your flock.” He answered taking his hand away from the gate. A rush of white wool quickly streamed from the one way entrance. Bo peep growled in agitation, despite knowing she could find them later.

 

“Valiant, little shepherd.” The sword drew a drop of blood. David couldn’t focus on her, however. A golden wooled ram with magnificent horns stayed behind as the flock wandered into the meadows, his brown eyes dark with determination and anger. It was only a sheep in the flock, but David somehow knew that creature was Kristoff. “But I’m afraid you’ve lost.”

 

But before she could finish him, the large Kristoff ram scraped a hoof to the ground, its curved horns tips aimed in exactly the correct spot. It charged forth without her even realizing its movements, knocking her and her sword to the side as David relieved her of it, the golden fleeced beast taking advantage of her vulnerability and tearing at her expensive dress until she held a hand up to protect herself. The engagement ring still glinted on her finger as David stepped forward to face her one last time.

 

“Kristoff,” He looked to the blonde ram as he looked on at the shepherd. “Stand down.” He commanded and his friend obeyed.

 

His boot print imprinted on her grass stained corset, and the tip of his sword was on her neck as she backed away to the pens fence, exactly as he’d done only moments earlier. She held up both hands in surrender, and David grabbed her right, relieving her of his friends wedding ring.

 

“Now, what was that you were saying about me having lost?” He raised an eyebrow as the defenseless warlord rose to her feet. With no more opportunities to fight, David and the ram guided her to her gazebo, hands bound in a length of lilac ribbon that held strong for the journey before being looped to one of the ivy covered columns.

 

Bo peep obviously expressed some disdain and dismay as the blonde ram came up onto her gazebo, straw and mud doing no favours for the lacquered floors, but it was nothing compared to the fit she gave them when David took her crook from where it lay encompassed by fleece on her daybed. He looked into the hook as he held it over the blonde ram. A milky haze swirled within the shape, and a familiar face began to take form.

 

“Yup.” David concluded. “You’re Kristoff, alright.”

 

With a feeling of excitement, he tapped the crook to the floor one, two, three times. True to the rules of its workings, the massive swathes of golden fluff shrunk and disappeared beneath the gray lining of his gatki. The large, black horns curved back into his head as the halo of blonde hair grew back. In less than ten seconds Kristoff was on his hands and knees, a cough surfacing as he spat green clumps on the planks, earning a growl from the shepherdess.

 

“Ugh.” He grimaced. “If that’s what grass tastes like, let the sheep have it.”

 

David chuckled and held out the ring. “Got your ring back.” Kristoff smiled and took it, sliding it back down his finger before glancing at Bo peep murderously.

 

“What did I tell you?” Kristoff looked knowingly between the warlord and the shepherd. “You won.”

 

David shook his head. “If you hadn’t stopped her I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.”

 

“If you hadn’t came to fight I’d have been stuck in a pen with nothing but grass for the rest of my life,” He grimaced slightly again. “And even then I’d still prefer carrots.”

 

“But still Kristoff, I can’t give myself all the credit.” The ice cutter clapped a hand to his friends shoulder.

 

“Of course you can. You fought against impossible odds. Speaking of which, what made you change your mind? It’s not like it could’ve have gotten worse.”

 

“It did, when she took you.” The shepherd lamented.

 

Kristoff raised an eyebrow. “She had every right to; I messed with her.”

 

“No,” David replied. “no, she didn’t. You were teaching me how to fight but we both knew I wasn’t going to at the rate we were training.”

 

Kristoff seemed slightly hurt. “Come on, I believed in you. I knew David wouldn’t back down from a fight… eventually, at least.” He admitted.

 

“Regardless, what you said really got to me when I realized you’d been taken. I realized there was a connection when what you said about your friend and what you said about me. I realized you were trying to push me to accept that I can survive,” He cast a look at the empty pen. “But I can’t live with myself. Not if I can’t accept what I’ve lost, and not if I’m trapped in a life I don’t want.”

 

Silence passed along the gazebo as Kristoff nodded in agreement, knowing his friend had finally understood. Finally, Bo peep broke the silence.

 

“Alright. You two are heroes. Now how ‘bout untying me?” She questioned with irritation as she struggled against the strong lilac binding. An uncomfortable silence came and went as both men considered their options. It was plainly obvious that if they let her go free they’d both be dead rather quickly.

 

“Not just yet.” David concluded. “First, you don’t get to use this on me or my family, ever again. And you have to unbrand Kristoff, my mother and me from your payments. We’ve all lost enough today.”

 

Kristoff rubbed the brand of the crook on the back of his right hand, as if remembering it was still there. True, he didn’t want that anymore. Being branded was almost as demeaning as being a ram.

 

“Do I look like I can unbrand people? ‘Cause I can’t.” She drawled despite her situation.

 

“Fine then.” David concluded. “You don’t want to than you be can the first to try. Tell me, how do you like a taste of your own medicine?” With that he raised the silver crook before Bo peep stopped him, her eyes widening and cheeks flushing.

 

“No!” Her voice and resolve cracked. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it!”

 

“How?” The shepherd took a step towards her.

 

“Whisper the name into the crook and tap once.” She instructed.

 

Kristoff watched skeptically as David whispered his name into the crook and tapped it once. True to her word, he held up his hand, now devoid of the brand. He then repeated the process, whispering his mother's name. He then handed the crook to the ice cutter, who said his name into the crook. The brand didn’t completely disappear, but this was enough to satisfy the blonde, who nodded. It would be hell explaining this to Hans when he got back.

 

“You got the brand's off.” Bo peep frowned. “Now are you two _gentlemen_ going to let me go?”

 

“You swear on your life you won’t bother us?” David shot back. Bo peep gulped, and nodded. “Say it.” He pressed.

 

“I swear I won’t bother you, Kristoff, or Ruth ever, or so help me I’ll make a deal with The Dark One!” She spat. “Now let me go!”

 

David seemed satisfied with this answer, and set to crook on the ground. “Come on, Kristoff. Her men will get her out of this when they wake up.” He smiled as Bo peep’s face flushed white as a sheet, both realizing she’d made a deal for no reason that she was now bound to.

 

“Nicely played. I’m guessing the farms safe?” He complimented his friends trickery.

 

David grinned knowingly. “For now, at least. Now, I think it’s time we get you on your way. You’ve got a fiance and a secret mission waiting.” Kristoff remained silent, his small smile fading. “Speaking of which, are you ever going to tell me who it is?”

 

“Well, how about this: You come to the Southern Isles and meet him at the wedding?” His face suddenly went red at the realization that he’d just let slip the one thing he wanted to keep from his friend for as long as possible.

 

“Him?” David questioned. Kristoff sighed.

 

“I… I didn’t want to tell you.” His tone was sheepish.

 

“Love is a strange and beautiful thing; be it with a man or a woman. Did you really think that was something I’d get upset about?”

 

Kristoff grunted. “Enough people did.”

 

David wrapped a hand around his shoulder. “Well I’m not. Kristoff, we’ve been friends since we could walk and you’ve just saved my life, my mother's life, and my farm. Trust when I say I don’t think any less of you for that. As long as he makes you happy.” He paused for a moment. “He does make you happy, right?”

 

“Oh yeah.” The ice man's eyes widened a bit and his tone and vivacious nod suggested his beloved made him happy in more ways than one. David felt slightly uncomfortable realizing this, but let the matter drop.

 

“Anyway,” The cottage sat in the distance, the waves of grass surging in the soft breeze. “let’s go celebrate the good news. I’m sure my mother’s noticed the brand’s gone by now.”    

 

* * *

 

Hans struggled to keep his emotions at bay as he tried to keep a calm face and tone, the walkie talkie a foot away in case the other sheriff or the pirate updated their search for Kristoff. Emma Swan was still unconscious, sweat beads still collecting as she slowly dehydrated.

 

He felt the guilt, he felt the pain, but he knew that would most likely end if Kristoff showed up. There was hope behind his fear. Hans knew he could never forgive himself if he killed someone. He would truly be the monster he feared he would always become.

 

The device crackled with static as David’s panicked voice sounded over the other end, calling for him. “Hans! We need an update. How’s Emma?”

 

The prince bit his lip as he felt the blondes forehead. “Feverish. Sweating buckets.” He answered before realizing his panic was beginning to bleed through the cracks of his threatening facade. The sound of scraping metal on glass made him hiss and drop the device to cover his ears, Hook no doubt scraping the volcanic glass in a foolish attempt to get his girlfriend out. It stopped after a moment and the black box came to life with David’s voice once more.

 

“What is it?” He questioned.

 

“Hans, we need you to try an find an exit. When you made this cave you must've thought to make a way out.” The sheriff’s voice rang through the glass cave as Hans suddenly went red. A long silence passed before David spoke again. “You did make a way out didn’t you, some way to escape?”

 

Hans surveyed his creation despite knowing he hadn’t thought of how he was going to get out when his priorities were so different not too long ago. “Er…” He paused. “No?”

 

A drawn out and irritated sigh came from the other side. “Then we need to you make one.”

 

“And I need Kristoff.” He replied with anxiety quivering in his throat.

 

“Well he’s not here right now. But we have a way to find him and we will find him. But right now, it looks like you’re gonna have to do this on your own.” Charming answered as he looked at the massive cave.

 

“I can’t, sheriff. Not without him here.” He replied as his thumb became sore from holding the button.

 

“I know how you feel.” David answered. “I know you feel trapped, like there’s no way out, like there’s no hope; that it’s a battle you can’t win. But that’s exactly the kind of battle you have to fight, or you are gonna die.”

 

Hans took Emma’s hand, a weak pulse making him want to quit, knowing it was too late for him to do anything. “No.” He replied. “I’ll survive, but Emma…” He trailed off as her eyes opened slightly.

 

“Survival isn’t enough.” Charming shot back. “You have to live.”

 

Hans felt a twinge of recognition, someone having told him that once but the voice echoed like a church bells peal in his head. “Where did you hear that?” He had a feeling he knew who had told him.

 

“You know where.” David answered curtly with a small grin on his face.

 

“You knew Kristoff?” His voice was weak.

 

“Yeah, I did. We were friends a long time ago and he helped me become who I am today. He saved my life and yours and now I need you to save Emmas. I knew Kristoff, and I know who you are, Hans. And I know from what he’s told me he wouldn’t want you to quit, to run away, to hide like you did because you’ll survive, but you won’t live. You’ll scrap by thinking you can’t do anything and if you don’t, if you don’t fight, you’ll truly lose everything.

 

You can’t think of yourself as a lost cause, because that will leave you alone, in a prison of your own fears. You can’t escape that fear, those worries unless you melt that rock! Now do it!”

 

The walkie talkie dropped from Hans’ hand as he stood up and looked at his creation with trepidation and terror blooming beneath the surface of his bubbling organs. His legs felt light and weak beneath him as he lifted his hands to his chest, his soul spiraling as he faced the wall, faced his fear.

 

But he wasn’t afraid of the wall. He wasn’t even afraid of his powers, not when he needed to man up and face this because he knew he had no other choice. David was right. Kristoff wouldn’t want him to be afraid when Hans knew better. These powers weren’t just part of his hands and emotions. They were a part of Hans, himself.

 

A glow came from his outstretched hands as control found its way into his veins. Confidence made him smile slightly with pride as the fragments of obsidian broke away in chunks that slowly grew in size, his heat magic swirling around the cave as Emma propped herself up to witness a good sized hole being created in the cave.

 

The cool air was a blessing for the blonde as she was helped through the small hole and into the arms of Hook. Hans quickly followed.

 

“You saved her.” David remarked.

 

Hans agreed, the smile of control quickly fading as he realized the obvious. “But I also endangered her. If it weren’t for me than she wouldn’t have gotten into this mess.”

 

David disagreed. “It’s a sign that you’re learning. Practice makes perfect, or so Kristoff told me so.” Hans nodded.

 

“He did to me too.” He looked saddened, remembering all the times he’d tried to work his power and his friend reminding him practice was the only way of ensuring it as a habit.

 

“I’m afraid,” Hook piped up. “That I agree with the pyro. He threatened not only Emma but the entire town and from what I can gather broke into Gold’s shop. What’s to stop him from following through on those threats of burning the bloody town to the ground?”

David sighed, realization dawning on his face that the prince, while saving his daughter, did in fact threaten them, the town and Emma. Even with the newfound control, there was a chance that he could, accidentally or not, destroy the town.

 

“What do you mean ‘follow through?’” Hans raised an eyebrow.

 

“He means that you still…” Charming trailed off for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully. “Have the potential to cause damage, even if your intentions may be good. We have a reputation for that around here I guess.” David attempted to clarify. The prince still looked confused.

 

“Just come with us. We’ll talk when we get there and after my daughter is cooled down.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day in the hours the period of time encompassed was remarkably uneventful aside from the obvious amount of storytelling Kristoff and David had embarked in when Ruth realized the brand, Kristoff, and her son were missing. There was obvious worry from her side of the den, fretting an expected reaction that both men were quick to soothe. The shepherd's mother was to say the least overjoyed when it was revealed Bo peep could never extort their hard earned and meager earnings as people of lower class and could never hurt them again. But what seemed to elate old Ruth above the fact that she and her son were safe was the story that accompanied the news, of how David realized he couldn’t live in fear, and how he fought to save his friend and farm.

 

She’d hugged him for the longest time before going off to the kitchen to prepare a special feast for the evening as well as something for Kristoff on his journey. The ice cutter himself had relatively little packing to do aside  from the freshly washed clothes on his back and sharpening his sword from the chinks David had put in it during their practice duels. They were tending the flock as the sun began to set when Kristoff felt a sense of curiosity overcoming him.

 

“What was Bo peep talking about?” He asked from where he leaned against to fence as David sprinkled handfuls of grain about the puffy white lambs.

 

The shepherd didn’t look up. “What about?”

 

Kristoff took a calm breath that released itself in a sigh. “When you made that deal with her; to never hurt your family and unbrand us, she mentioned something about swearing on the... Dark One?”

 

At the mention of this name, David suddenly dropped the bucket of feed, gritting his teeth in frustration as the sheep crowded around him. In seconds, he stepped over his flock and went up to Kristoff with a look of silent horror on his face.

 

“What do you want to know?” He asked breathlessly.

 

The blonde shrugged. “Well who is he? I mean a name like the Dark One should say something.”

 

“It does.” David nodded. “He’s a powerful sorcerer who is well versed enough in dark magic to earn him that title.”

 

“Dark magic,” He echoed. “Like with Bo peep’s staff. Is magic really that common around here and I’ve just never noticed?”

 

“Could be.” The shepherd shrugged. “All I know is that when you mention him to someone like Bo peep, they know to back off.”

 

Kristoff narrowed his gaze for a moment. “So he’s more powerful?”

 

David’s eyes became a bit wider and he nodded. “He’s got power that would make Bo peep go running with her tail between her legs.”

 

The iceman paused, massaging his chin with a calloused hand. “Can he take away magic?” He wondered aloud. David shrugged again.

 

“Wouldn’t know. Never met him and don’t plan to.” A look of realization flashed over his stubbled face as he gazed at his friend with visible concern. “Why are you asking?”

 

“For the mission.” He answered.

 

“And I’m assuming it’s still secret.”

 

Kristoff nodded. “But if I needed help with magic, is he the one to see?”

 

David sighed. “Kristoff, you said it yourself: someone named The Dark One can’t be called that for no reason. You’re serious about this?”

 

Concentration was visible as his deep brown eyes shifted their gaze to the thriving flock of sheep. Finally after a moment of silence, he answered. “Well I’m not going to achieve anything on this journey if I don’t take risks. I’ll admit, getting turned into a ram and defeating a warlord were a great start, but I didn’t come here expecting an easy road. I came to find answers and if I have to dabble with magic to find out, I’ll do it.”

 

“For your fiance.” The shepherd concluded.

 

“He’s… been a little on edge over things these past few weeks. I don’t want him to worry anymore than he has to.” The iceman admitted solemnly. “Besides, David, like you wouldn’t go all out to please someone you loved.”

 

He smiled a bit. “Must admit, nobody reminds me of who I am more than Kristoff Bjorgman.”

 

“That’s what I’m here for.” He returned the smile.  

 

Within an hours time as the sun was just beginning to set over Misthaven, Ruth had everything ready for dinner, and Kristoff had his fill before agreeing to set out on his mission. He exchanged final goodbyes with his friends mother as they walked out to the tiny front porch.

 

“Thank you so much for this, Ruth.” Kristoff nodded as the pair stepped into the balmy september evening, the chirping of crickets echoing in the distant hills and valleys. “I really appreciate you taking me in for these past few nights.”

 

Ruth grinned meekly. “It’s no trouble, dear. I’m more than grateful you stayed, especially after all you’ve done.”

 

The iceman paused. “All I’ve done?” He echoed.

 

His friends mother nodded. “You changed him, made him brave when he needed to be the most.”

 

“David?” Kristoff nearly laughed. “He’s always been like that. He just… forgot, I guess.”

 

“Thank you.” She said in a more hushed voice that endeared the phrase even more. Kristoff smiled at the elderly woman.

 

“I’m glad I could help him. He just lost his way, but he’ll always find his way back.”

 

Silence passed between the pair when Ruth suddenly perked up from her subtle kindness. She held out a burlap satchel that Kristoff accepted. “Before I forgot.” She concluded. “You still like carrots, right?”

 

The blonde opened the sack and beamed at the shepherd’s mother. “Of course, especially when put into a cake. I’ll be looking forward to this.” He almost chuckled. “You always knew your baking.”

 

She looked modest at his compliment. “It was just so great to see you again, Kristoff. You’ve… always felt a bit like a second son to me.”

 

Though not usually one to do so, he wrapped her in a hug. “I’ll be in touch.” He answered softly. Finally, after a moment, the ice cutter let go.

 

“Speaking of which, there was something I wanted to ask you.” She nodded in compliance. “I’m on a mission to find out some things; things about magic. From what I can guess that’s a common thing around here?”

 

Ruth seemed a bit jaded at this. “There’s always a bit of magic around here.”

 

Kristoff bit his lip for a moment. “Someone I knew, they were having trouble with magic; powerful magic. I talked to David about this earlier. There wouldn’t be anyone around here that could help that someone with their problems?”

 

“I’m afraid David nor I are experts on magic.”

 

“That’s alright. I’m just hoping that I can find someone who is, like a fairy godmother or something.” Ruth looked at the dirty wooden planks of the porch, a guarded feeling etched onto her pale, wrinkled face.

 

“I didn’t want to, but there is one man. A man who is well versed in the art of magic.” Her tone was reserved, a complete opposite to the voice she had before Kristoff discussed magic.

 

“The Dark One.” Kristoff guessed. Ruth stumbled in her next words, licking her lips before finally nodding.

 

“Don’t be completely blinded by the rumors you hear.” She shook her head as if she were suddenly exhausted. “He may be dark, but he’s quite capable of helping anyone with a problem, magic or otherwise.”

 

Kristoff paused. “Does he go by anything else? I can’t imagine he’s only… y’know… The Dark One.”

 

She sighed. “I don’t like to say it aloud. But I’ll write it down for you.” With that, she disappeared into the little brick cottage as David appeared around the corner and Kristoff looked at his friend in complete and utter confusion and awe.

 

“Your horse.” He breathed looking at the magnificent beast that was saddled and guided by a pair of old leather reins. The shepherd nodded. “But you said that horse doesn’t leave your side.”

     

David snorted a bit, a lopsided grin taking the corner of his lips. “You know, a good friend once told me to move past my losses, and accept them. To let it go. This horse,” He patted the cacao brown steed faithfully. “Is a reminder of who I was, afraid to fight, afraid to risk losing it. He’s a reminder of a past I don’t want to live in or need anymore. He was my father's; the only thing that survived his bender.”

 

Kristoff walked towards it, placing a calloused hand in its muzzle. “But it’s a _horse_ , David. You can’t just give it away.”

 

“I wouldn’t be doing so if I didn’t think it was a good idea. Without the payments to Bo peep, things will get better and we can replace him before too long. Besides, I doubt you can walk all the way back to the Southern Isles in time for your wedding.”

 

The ice cutter smiled. “You do know you’re invited right? You and your mother?”

 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” David sighed as his friend mounted the groomed and washed beast, testing a reins a bit as Ruth walked out of the cottage, her hand clasped around something. Kristoff looked down at his friend from where he was, high on his new horse.

 

“Look at you.” He remarked. “Being the hero suits you, David.”

 

His friend grinned modestly. “I’m still just a shepherd.” He admitted, knowing it was nothing to be acclaimed of. The blonde gazed down at him knowing with his new courage, he wouldn’t be ‘just a shepherd’ for long.

 

“We’ll see.”

 

He smiled knowingly as the elder came up to him and held his free hand, pressing the dry parchment into his palm as he nodded at her, acknowledging her deed to help his secret mission. With that, he rode off into the setting sun down the path, but only when the cottage was a tiny brown dot in the distance did he finally unfold the creased paper, a single name immortalized in a dark blue ink in the nicest penmanship that would’ve put a trained scribe at the Southern Isles palace to shame.

 

He scanned the page with some difficulty, the legibility of the elders word not hindering him, but his lack of literacy in intricate penmanship even after all the lessons his prince had given him in time.

 

Rumple, the first two syllables were easy enough. Rumplestiltskin. He frowned at the parchment in intrigue, the Dark One his next stop as he rode off the prairie fields and off to find his answers.

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere of the Storybrooke Sheriff Station was cool, the hum of the now working air conditioning unit a distant whir in the silence of the main area. Emma was in the small, sectioned off office with ice packs being used by Hook and two fans being positioned on the desk and floor to circulate air and get her cooled down. Hans sat in one of the chairs by the cells, his fingers drumming on the plastic arm as he took deep, calming breaths.

 

“Do you need anything?” A boy with a rich crop of dark hair walked over to the fire prince. Hans looked up at him and shook his head.

 

“No thanks. Henry, right?” Henry nodded. “You’re mom was talking about you earlier. She must care for you a lot.”

 

The teenager smiled. “It’s what moms do.” He replied with a shrug and sat down in the chair next to the prince, who, despite attempting to ignore his newfound companion, found it pointless and sighed.

 

“Is there something wrong?” His tone sounded more annoyed than Hans wanted it to sound, but if Henry seemed bothered by this, he didn’t show it.

 

“No, I just wanted to thank you.” He replied before pausing. “And to ask you something.” The prince raised an auburn eyebrow before nodding. At his response Henry removed a large book from his backpack that was leaning against the chair, the golden embossed letters reading a familiar phrase that was the epitome of all fairy tales.

 

“What is that?” Hans questioned.

 

Henry opened the book, the crackling of laminated parchment paper echoing softly in the room below the chattering of David and a black haired woman with a baby, the former pressing the buttons of a contraption that made strange sounds, but looked somewhat similar to the walkie-talkie.

 

Delicately inked words and beautifully descriptive paintings took up every page the teen flipped past, Hans only catching glimpses of the pictures as Henry answered. “It’s a book of stories. Well, more than just a book.” He admitted. “Every single one of these stories are true, and everyone here,” He gestured to the four people in the station. “Are characters.”

 

Hans felt intrigued. “Fairy tale characters.” He echoed under his breath. Given what he’d been through since getting out of that urn he found the alibi of this town completely acceptable. After all, he’d been born with fire powers. The impossible never really was impossible. “Are you in it?”

 

Henry shook his head. “I’m not in the book. I was born in this world.”

 

Hans leaned over to examine the pages, careful to keep his hands away. “And am I in it?”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He was over halfway through the book by now, quickly scanning over the pages he’d read and knew at this point by heart. Finally, after another moment, he reached the end, the drawing of an ominous purple stormcloud blacking out a mystic, white stone castle. He shook his head once more. “It doesn’t look like you’re in it. But I’m not surprised. You’re not from the Enchanted Forest.”

 

“And neither is Kristoff.” Hans concluded. Henry looked at him, seemingly expecting an answer as to who exactly that was. “Blonde hair, muscular, brown eyes… he was an ice harvester back in my land.”         

“If he’s not from the Enchanted Forest,” Henry replied. “Chances are he’s not in here.” He closed the book with an audible thump. “But don’t worry. David and Mary Margaret are going to help you find him. In this family, we always find each other… it’s kind of a thing we do.”

 

Hans chuckled slightly. “I’ve been told David won’t give up.”

 

Henry put a hand on Hans’ shoulder, and the prince fought the urge to jerk it away, but found himself unable to move from the kind gesture. He’d never been one to let people touch him unless they were immediate family, and even then those people had to test their luck. “Prince Charming doesn’t fail. They’ll find your ice cutter, whatever that is.”

 

Hans sighed, a small grin creeping onto his face. “Thanks, Henry.”

 

The couple finished their conversation, David setting the talking device back into its holster as he and Mary Margaret walked over to the pyro prince. “We just got off the phone with Gold. He’ll be here soon.”

 

Hans looked confused until he realized that Gold was the owner of the shop he’d broken into. He felt a trail of sweat encompassing his lower back as the room's temperature escalated by a few degrees. A lump swelled in his throat as his face flushed red. David noticed the obvious anxiousness.

 

“Don’t worry too much about Gold. He’s in a relatively good mood right now.” The temperature settled as Hans seemed to cool down a bit. “But that doesn’t mean you can just go. You still trespassed on private property and stole a most likely valuable object. I’m afraid even here we have laws.”

 

Hans frowned. “I get it. But what does that mean?”

 

“It means you’re under arrest.” David returned the frown. “At least for the next few days or until someone bails you out. Take your pick of cells, we’ve only got two.”

 

The prince looked at the cell area only a few feet away, the tarnished emerald green bars far less depressing than the dungeon he’d been housed in for a short time. There hadn’t been light, a decent restroom, or any hope of leaving once placed down there; that was, unless you had something that could destroy an entire wall and whatever cuffs you had on you. But contrary to his performance in his own dungeon, Hans felt no desire to escape knowing he’d probably be out of there in a few days. Besides, he had broken the law, no matter what the cause, it was still illegal. Just because he was royalty back home didn’t mean here or there he was exempt from legal restrictions. He had to pay his dues. With a sigh, he pulled himself up from the chair, and walked briskly and confidently as he could to the cell closest to him, and the only prison of the two with a barred window.

 

David, slightly taken aback by his lack of protest or even an increase in temperature, removed the keys from his belt and unlocked the door. Hans tried to keep his face still, unreadable as he strolled in. He tried to ignore the metal on metal cling that echoed in his ear canal as he sat down on the small cot. He tried to forget that he was locked away again, this time nearly exactly similar to the last.

 

It was in that moment that Hans realized he’d not only lost Kristoff, but that he’d lost his wedding band too. His palm smacked his forehead as a small cash of tears welled behind his eyes. A trail of embers began to materialize and swirl about his head. He bit his lip as he attempted to make them vanish before they became any more noticeable. With a deep breath, the embers dissipated into a harmless white ash and fell to the ground, softer than snow.

 

Charming walked up to the cell, a silver sheep's crook in hand. Hans looked up at it and snorted. “What’s that for, hanging me?”

 

David ignored the sarcasm and held the crook, poised in his hands. “No, this is how we’re going to find Kristoff.” Hans raised an eyebrow. “This thing has magic in it. It can show the people it’s branded.”

 

He narrowed his gaze in skepticism. “He was branded by that thing?” David nodded.

 

“Yes and no. He, like myself, had the brand removed. But if memory serves me right the brand faded partially.”

 

He stood from the hard cot and walked up to the bars. “Partially? So there’s a chance it can’t find him?”

 

“A tiny chance. I think it’s because at the time he was engaged to you, so he was between names. The connection is weak, but still there.” He held the silver crook to the prince, to took it between the bars.

 

“How does it work?” He fingered the suddenly wilting bouquet of roses and baby’s breath, the flowers drying from his overwhelming warmth.

 

“Whisper the name of the person into the hook, and it’ll show you the person and where they are.” David explained as the prince looked into the hook of the shepherds tool, whispering Kristoff’s name into it. He stared into it, and nothing happened.

 

Hans repeated it, a little louder this time before turning to Charming, his face unamused. “You’re sure it works?”

 

He nodded. “Well then why isn’t it?”

 

“Maybe the brand’s faded too much? Maybe you used the wrong surname?” Hans shook his head, saying he’d tried both Kristoff Bjorgman and Kristoff Westergaard.

 

“Maybe it’s broken, then?” Hook piped up from the office, sticking his head out the doorway.

 

“I don’t see anything.” Hans concluded, his gaze contorting in a painful mixture of confusion and anger. Then, after a moment, the realization crashed into him as his face fell. He was in the twenty-first century, had no memories past that day in the attic with his brother trying on the old suit. “Does this mean that… something’s happened to him?”

 

A painful silence passed as nobody wanted to agree or disagree with the prince, the possibility of something having happened being quite likely if the crook didn’t show anything at the whisper of a person's name. Only Bo Peep would know for sure, and from how David had left her he knew she would most likely be more in the mood for chopping than chatting. Finally, after about ten seconds, Henry broke the silence, his eyebrow raising.

 

“What’s that sound?” He questioned.

 

Everyone in the room quieted as they focused their hearing to any abnormal noise aside from the air conditioning and the hum of the two fans in the office. With attention drawn to sound, a slow, steady, healthy beat filled the air of the room as Mary Margaret confirmed what it was.

 

“A heartbeat.” She breathed.

 

Hans felt a smile coming over him as he tightened his grip on the crook, hope entering every opening as he was soon flooded with it. David smiled as well. “We may not have him here, and we may not know where he is. But we know the most important thing.” He reassured as Hans laughed.

“He’s alive.” He felt tears gliding silently down his cheeks and they quickly steamed away.

 

“Who’s alive?”

 

Everyone turned to face the man who’d interrupted the happy occasion. Mr. Gold; Rumplestiltskin, stood in the alcove of the room, his cane poised between his legs. There was pleasant curiosity in his eyes as he strolled up to the cell.

 

“Is this the man who broke into my shop?” He pointed at a pale faced Hans, who immediately clutched the crook like a club, the flowers and bow flaring up in a bright red glow before their black ashes scattered to the cell floor.

 

“His name’s Hans, Gold. We’re trying to help him find Kristoff, as you already know. And we’re not going to give up until we do.”

 

The pawnbroker frowned. “Well I didn’t come here for an introduction, I came because you asked me to give insight to a punishment… within reason of course.” He looked at the fire prince.

 

Hans gaped. “Punishment? I’m already locked up and don’t intend to go anywhere.”

 

“Oh don’t worry, boy. I won’t do anything bad.” Gold waved off the other man's worry easier than a buzzing fly. “Provided you melt that wall around the town line, I’ll be on my way and you can go on yours, find your… Kristoff.”

 

The prince gulped and nodded. “I’ll try my best.” He answered, his throat a bit dry.

 

Within twenty minutes Emma and Hans stood before the wall of shining black glass, the nights sky lost behind its sparkling exterior. The air was balmy from stress and tension as Gold watched from the sheriff’s car, Hans fearing the worst should he be unable to make this wall vanish. Emma knew he was afraid, and decided to come along not only for moral support, but to act as a barrier between him and the pawnbroker in case he was, in fact, unable to melt his creation away.

 

His breath was slightly ragged, but Emma squeezed his hand and that seemed to end his bout of anxiety. To know he wasn’t alone with a powerful man was enough reassurance for the prince.

 

“Here goes nothing.” He chided himself and held his hands to the wall, thinking of the mantra that he’d done when needed. Love can quell. It had to, Hans reminded himself, or else.

 

A glowing swirl of scarlet red curled from his hands in a near fluid motion as Emma and Gold observed him work his magic. Confidence and strength blossomed like the first spring violets beneath his skin, the prickly sensation of power and magic causing him to reveal an elated smile, knowing he could, even if it was sporadic, control his powers.

 

But as the red haze kissed the sparkling barrier, nothing happened at first. Hans wasn’t put off by this, however, and concentrated, pulling his strength higher until a feeling of uneasiness caught up with him and the glow faded and died. Something felt wrong about this whole thing, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand what it was.

 

“I don’t see the wall coming down.” Gold called from the car in a jaded, and somewhat disappointed tone.

 

“Hans, is something wrong?” Emma narrowed her gaze at the wall.

 

The prince looked incredulously at the barrier that wasn’t obeying his commands, his powers seeming to fail him. For a moment, Hans assumed the worst: that he had no control and would now be at the mercy of a very powerful man. But in seconds, as the last of his powers receded into his hands, something shifted in his mind, his connections. The wall before him was his own creation, something he should’ve been able to control and reshape into anything he wished. But there was no connection to the wall before them, like with Pepper when he’d been compromised. It was a mystery to Hans as to how his powers and its mental connection to its creations worked, but he had a basic understanding of it.

 

“The wall. I can’t sense anything in it.” He concluded.

 

Emma looked at the prince as though he’d just sprouted a second head. “Sense it?” She echoed skeptically.

 

“It’s one of the few things I do understand about my powers. To put it simply,” Hans swirled his hands over one another, a small small of crackling fire forming in his right hand, burning brightly in the darkness of the night. “I have a mental connection with everything I create. But when it’s compromised, like what happened with Pepper,” He clapped his palms together, the flame instantly extinguishing. “I can’t control it or change it anymore. But this wall, I feel a connection, but not a matching one.”

 

Emma still stared at him, and Hans sighed. “I can’t get rid of it, sheriff. I can’t melt it away because to put it bluntly it’s not my magic. Someone or something else here has to be keeping this thing up or else you’d be staring at a starry sky right now.”

 

“Someone or something else? I thought you said you were the only one with powers like yours.” Emma looked between the prince, the car, and the wall.

 

“That I know of.” He shot back. “There could be hundreds of others, for all I know. If there is, though…” He trailed off. “That’s probably a bad thing.”

 

“Because not everyone uses their powers like you do.” Emma agreed, knowing magic not only came with a price but also changed the person who wielded it. Regina and Gold were shining beacons of how magic could be used for good and evil purposes.

 

“So what do we do?” Hans asked, the nervous sweat returning to his lower back as he looked at Gold, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

 

“We look for the thing responsible.” Emma concluded. “But really, who or what would want to keep this wall up?”

 

* * *

 

Ruby stood at the mahogany and glass cases that protected beautifully made artisan breads, her hands sliding out of her red hoodie as she finally shed the garment, realizing just how warm the store was after firing her usual order at the man behind the counter. She knew him well enough throughout her near thirty years of helping her granny at the diner located across the street. Unbeknownst to her customers, most of the bread came, like her lasagna, from elsewhere.

 

“Alright,” The man began as he came out from the back kitchen, his toned arms full of multiple brown bags. “We’ve got every type of bread I bake in these bags.” He grunted as he set the tall order down on the counter right in front of the young woman who jumped slightly at the collective thump the bags made upon contact with the butcher's block surface.

 

“Thanks Kent. Appreciate the order.” Ruby smiled sheepishly at the man as he looked her over.

 

“The strange thing is, Granny never bought this much, even with the extra business. And call me crazy, but I doubt she needs ten extra honey oat cakes that just happen to be your favorite.” He removed one of the bags that contained the evidence. “And you’re just… hoarding them? You know I can always make more.”

 

“No, actually.” Ruby’s smile became somber as she took the bag from Kent’s hand, opening the fold to reveal her favorite thing. “I’m going to miss them, so I want as many as I can get.”

 

“Miss them,” The man crossed his arms.

 

Ruby shrugged halfheartedly. “This is my last delivery. After this, I’m setting off.”

 

Kent raised an eyebrow. “Is it about lemurs again?” He almost chuckled.

 

“No,” She shook her head. “I’m going back to the Enchanted Forest.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” He gazed sadly. “care to say why?”

 

Ruby sighed, leaning on her right leg as she relaxed, her gaze shifting between the baker and the floor. “It’s just… ever since the curse broke, I’ve had trouble fitting in. At first I thought it would pass, but it didn’t. And then I realized what it was.”

 

“Your, er… condition.” Kent concluded. Ruby nodded, her finger running along a strand of red extension.

 

“Yeah.” Ruby admitted. “I just feel lost here. I feel like I need to go back, to find my pack again.”

 

Kent sighed again, his eyes falling to the counter as he leaned on it, his hands spread out as he thought of all the times he’d seen Ruby on her deliveries, playful and energetic as always until after the whole thing with the Wicked Witch. He’d watched for nearly thirty years as she skimmed over his selection of the day’s bread, always including one or two extra loaves for her valuable business and friendship. In all that time he’d never assumed she’d been unhappy, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to become obvious. She was part wolf, and aside from Granny she was the only one of her kind in the town. That had to be lonely. But inside, he understood the feeling of not belonging, of being alone.

 

“I understand.” He finally said. “But I hope you know what you’re doing; and more importantly, how you’re getting there. Is there a portal or something?”

 

“Not yet there isn’t. But I’ve been helping Anton with the beans. They managed to grow at least one.” She dug into her skirt pocket and pulled out the clear, sparkling bean that could make a portal to wherever she wished.

 

“As long as you don’t drop it in here.” He joked knowing it would virtually destroy the entire building and most likely the shops next door as well as suck both of them back to the Enchanted Forest.

 

“I wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “Granny would kill me. She may be good with baking but bread isn’t her specialty.”

 

Kent nodded in agreement before looking to the case that held the dessert Ruby had her heart set on keeping. He sighed as he began to empty the case into another bag, and stepped out from behind the counter and presented the bag as well as her normal order. “Well if you’re going, I have no need for the inventory. I know you love these.”

 

Ruby’s eyes sparkled as she stuck the magic bean back into her pocket and took the bag. “Thanks, Kent.”

 

“Consider it a farewell gift. I’ll miss you, Ruby.” He took a step forward as the young lady threw her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him.

 

“I’ll miss you too.” She sniffed as tears began to well up behind her eyelids before letting go and looking at him for a moment, then the shop. “Come to think of it,” She looked at the fully stocked shelves. “A power outage must be a nightmare for you. How did you bake all this?”

 

Kent smiled slyly. “I just had to use the wood fire oven. It wasn’t easy you know, but hopefully it’s still good.”

 

Ruby grinned. “I don’t doubt it for a moment. Burned or not, I wouldn’t turn down your baking for the world.”

 

Kent grinned hopefully at her. “I guess this is goodbye.”

 

“I guess it is, for now, at least.” She sent a nod his way before ducking out of the shop, leaving Storybrooke bread devoid of customers for the moment.

 

Kent watched in silence until he saw his favorite shopper disappear before the small grin faded. He’d hoped she would stay. But she’d be out of the way for what he had planned, at least. It was a shame. She’d been a good friend, but friends were as easy to lose as they were to keep. As much as he didn’t want to admit it even to himself, she was expendable.

 

But the smile returned as he went back to the dough lumps on the butcher’s block he’d been kneading before Little Red Riding Hood had stopped by, layers of rich, creamery butter enriching the croissants. They were one of the hardest things to make in the shop, but after enough practice, they came naturally. He moved the pastries to a cast iron tray before proceeding. With a mere wave of his hand, the dough rose and puffed, the delicate heat working like magic as in seconds, the flaky crust on the edges formed a delicate shell that cracked and crumbled upon contact. The butter was evenly melted, and the pastries were well done. Better, in fact, than most of his previous batches.

 

Content with his work, he grabbed one of the best looking on the bunch and tore off the edge, admiring the golden brown interior with satisfaction blooming in his chest. He leaned back against the wood paneled wall, popping the small piece into his mouth. He savoured the taste, for he rarely ate his own work, preferring to let the public enjoy his special guild.

 

Suddenly, as he allowed his powers to roam free, delicate curls of flames enveloped the rest of the croissant, blackening the creation to a powdery ash that dissipated before the first grain even touched the immaculate red terrazzo floor. Swathes of sparkling obsidian spread along the wall for a diameter of a few feet , the cracking and shifting of his glass music to his ears. The smile returned, confident as it was. He had his plans for this town. And he wasn’t going to back down, not when he could have everything he ever wanted.

 

All he had to do now, was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to give Bo peep a more interesting power because otherwise, she felt like a weak villain. I also carried over Kristoff and David like the original season because it would make sense he would go straight to David when he got to the Enchanted Forest. Please let me know what you think of this rewrite. I'd love some feedback!


	3. Slipping Past

Storybrooke Bread was having a relatively quiet morning, the early rays of glowing sunlight casting weary shadows along the polished red terrazzo. Kent Cooke stood behind the counter, inhaling the scent of flour and yeast he’d always been accustomed to even before he’d come to this strange little town. With Ruby no longer popping by daily, things were very silent in the mornings and afternoons unless someone stopped by for bagels or to put in an order. This lack of usual customers made Kent very observant of those few regulars. There was that one kid, Henry, who always stopped by before Granny’s on the weekends for bagels, always remarking his bagels rivaled New York’s, to which he took great pride in. There was now Floyd, the head chef at Granny's who took little interest in his trade; not like Ruby had, anyway. And then there was Robin and his son, Roland, who stopped by every few weeks for a comfort from home the the baker had taught himself to make especially for them: a dark barley pumpkin bread that obviously held many precious memories.

 

Today, his first set of customers were in fact Robin and Roland, along with a lovely young maiden with whom neither bore a striking resemblance to, but it was rather obvious who she was. Of course, Kent had been privy to town gossip before his best customer had left. And while this obviously wasn’t Regina, the Evil Queen, he decided it best to keep any knowledge of the affair silent. After all, it wasn’t his place to pry.

 

“Robin, Roland. Good to see you both again.” He stepped out from behind the wooden counter. “I’ve got your usual order ready, unless you’d like something else.”

 

The marksman grinned. “We’ll keep the usual, thank you Kent.”

 

“It’s good to have routine.” He remarked, taking the three loaves of special bread he’d made for them and setting them into a brown parchment bag. “However, I certainly don’t recall you recently having this lovely young mother by your side.”

 

“Yeah. She’s been… getting used to Storybrooke. I figured I should offer her some kind of home comfort. After all, bread is much less overwhelming than ice cream.” He shrugged as the tanned lady looked about the fully stocked shelves, Roland’s nose pressed against the glass display case that kept him from the desserts within.

 

“Well that I can agree with.” He chuckled a bit. “The only improvement we have here is the wonders of a timed oven. Thankfully I kept the woodfire one in back, otherwise this shop would be emptier than the mayor's office.”

 

“That makes it even better. Much more authentic.” Robin Hood nodded before he noticed his son tugging at his pant leg, asking if they could get something sweet. He looked hesitant, his gaze shifting between his wife and the counter.

 

“Go on, son.” Kent smiled warmly at the young man. “Pick out anything you like, on the house.” He strolled briskly over to the case and slid a pair of latex gloves on.

 

Robin shook his head a bit. “You really don’t have to.”

 

Kent laughed. “Let the little man have something sweet. I’m not expecting much business today, anyway.” His wife seemed to notice what he’d said, and walked over to Roland, observing the glazed and honeyed treats with enthusiastically wide eyes. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” He extended a hand over the glass case.

 

“Marian.” The maiden took his hand and shook it.

 

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Marian. My name is Kent, owner of Storybrooke Bread.” He cast a nod and a warm smile that could melt the most frozen of hearts. “I take it my shop is pleasing you?”

 

Marian nodded. “Although I’ve never seen so much bread in one place. Back in our land the flavors are definitely not as… diverse.”

 

“Well,” He shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sure you’ll find in this world you’ll find something to suit your tastes. After all you’ve been through, the least I can do is offer you anything of your choice.”

 

“Free?” Marian guessed as her eyes grew wide. He nodded as Roland jabbed his finger at a cinnamon roll and Kent stooped down to the bottom shelf to get it. “I think I’ll have what he’s having. What is it?” She questioned.

 

The baker grinned. “It’s called a cinnamon roll. Spicy, sweet, and my specialty.” With that, he removed another one, and took both behind the counter to ice them.

 

The massive buns were cold to the touch, and he couldn’t have that. Not with his plan in place. His hands warmed the confections as he summoned a raw flame in the pale palm of his hand, extinguishing it into a low cackle of ashes that were sprinkled onto the bigger of the two. In his mind it didn’t matter which one of them got hurt from his magic. As long as it worked, it would bring him one step closer to his happy ending. And he’d waited for a long time. It was so close he could very nearly taste it.

 

“Here we are.” He wrapped them in two wax paper sheets and presented one to Marian and stooped down to a squat and hand Roland his. He got a gap-toothed thank you that made his heart warm. It was comforting to have a young boy before him, happy, without a care in the world. “A fresh one for the little man.” He ruffled the soft brown head of hair as the boy eagerly bit into his dessert.

 

“Thank you, Kent.” Robin nodded as he stood up and presented Marian with hers. “It’s a wonder. How are you so great with kids?”

 

He shrugged and dusted the grains of cinnamon sugar into his crisp apron. “I don’t know, really. I guess it just comes naturally.” With that, he handed the bag of bread to the marksmen.

 

“Really, though. You’re too kind. Thank you.” Robin remarked as his wife smiled upon taking a bite.

 

“No,” He shook his head. “Thank you. Seeing your family reunited, happy; it just warms my heart.” He scoffed a bit. “I just wish I could be as lucky as you, somedays.”

 

Robin looked hopefully at the baker. “I’m sure you will, someday.”

 

He nodded. “I hope so too.” He nodded with a sly grin as the trio left the shop, enjoying his guild as the curse slowly began to blossom inside Marian. Little did they realize he didn’t hope he’d get a family. He knew he would. His brown eyes shifted to the counter, the wicker basket of display bread fresh as could be, and stocked to the brim. He had a delivery to make.

 

* * *

 

His neck ached on the stale pillow as he lifted it from the bed, blinking a few times to adjust to the misty light of the mid morning son, a soft fog outside the window of the Storybrooke Sheriff station. Hans released a tired yawn and moved his arms, rolling the feeling back into them as he stretched. But as he did he felt no strength in his hands. He felt no warmth. All he felt was the cold sting of metal as his fingers twitched in the thick, cold shell. It quickly came into focus as Hans shouted in agony, bolting up from the bed as he struggled to pull free from the dreaded cuffs he hated so.

 

Emma walked into the office, a basket in hand as her attention was drawn to the sole prisoner. “Morning.” She said monotonously, dropping the basket on the table as Hans glared at her.

 

“How the hell did these things get on my wrists?!” He shook the rattling chains with venom dripping from his tongue like a snake poised to strike.

 

“Those?” Emma gestured to the cuffs. Hans nodded with a huff. “Those were put on by Gold last night as punishment; and to make sure you don’t escape and cause damage.”

 

“And you let him do this? How am I supposed to do anything without my hands?”

 

“I’m sorry, Hans. It was his personal punishment and as sheriff I had no choice.” She shook her head before pulling a chair up to the cell. “Besides, you’re lucky he didn’t want worse. Gold’s killed for simple things that bothered him and frankly, I thought you’d be one of them.”

 

“And my hands,” Hans pressed.

 

Emma bit her lip before sighing. “Get creative. You’ll think of something.”

 

He groaned as his face fell to the concrete floor, his vision burning with silent rage and hate. Heat welled in his hands as he struggled to melt the damned things off his wrists, the feeling of weight slowly disconnecting his wrists and cutting into his pale, tender flesh too much to bear. He fought against what he said next, but did so anyhow.

 

“How did these things get here, anyhow?” He asked, refusing to break his gaze from the ground as he hovered over to the cot and plopped down.

 

Emma shrugged as she took a croissant from the wicker basket, and dunked it in her ‘I ♥ Boston’ mug. “I don’t know. Gold just had them stored back in his shop; said they could be useful.”

 

Hans frowned. “That seems awfully specific. These cuffs were crafted for me, and me alone.”

 

She bit into the crescent roll, chewing and swallowing. “He couldn’t have known that. He swore on the dagger; er… something that forces him to tell the truth.” She covered standing up and walking to the cell. “He swore that he didn’t know anything about you or Kristoff.”

 

Hans snorted, not believing her explanation but knowing there was absolutely no way to know for sure if what the blasted owner of the pawn shop was telling the truth. It scorched his insides not understanding even the basics of this world even after what Henry had told him. There were some situations in which logic would’ve been a handy and friendly little tool to have, at least once. “He did, however, recommend to interrogate you.” She took the chair by the cell and sat down. “How did you end up in that urn, anyhow?”

 

Hans closed his eyes and breathed, trying to search the deepest, darkest regions of his subconscious for memories that should’ve been there. Blackness haunted his visions as no light could guide him through what seemed to have been taken. He recalled the last thing that happened to him; the memory of him, Kristoff, and Thomas in the attic, trying on the old suit. He had just stepped outside of the dressing screen when everything went dark, as if someone had diced his thoughts like a ripe melon. He couldn’t recall anything about the urn or how he came to be trapped inside it.

 

“I wish I could remember. Something happened to my memories. The last thing I recall is trying on my brothers old suit.” Emma stared at him. “For the wedding. Y’know, something old, something new.”

 

“Well that’s certainly helpful.” She breathed an heir of sarcasm.

 

“Sorry. I can’t remember anything else. What I want to know is how I wound up in the twenty first century.” Emma paused.

 

“There was a time travel spell. You were in Gold’s vault of darkness and somehow got sucked up with me and Hook.”

 

“So I _wasn’t_ stuck in that thing for centuries?” A bit of hope found its way to the pyromantic prince.

 

“Nope. As far I as I can assume, the wedding’s still on, so cheers to that.” She held up the half eaten pastry in a mock toast and Hans raised an eyebrow at the morsel in her hand.

 

He narrowed his eyes at it. “Where did you get that?”

 

“This? It was in that basket over there.” Her eyes widened a bit. “Hang on. I’ll be back.” She stood up and walked over to the massive wicker basket, looking at the aged parchment tag attached to the handle. A man had come by to deliver it, but didn’t say anything about who it was for other than the tag.

 

 _“To the man in jail. Tell him good luck for me.”_ She read the handwriting as she picked up the basket and strolled back to the cell as the prince looked on, perplexed.

 

“Who sent that?” He asked, noticeable confusion aimed at the bread basket.

 

“Don’t know.” She shrugged. “But unless he meant Leroy, I think it’s safe to assume you’ve got breakfast.” The blond took one of the smaller loaves and passed through the bars, the prince forced to hold it awkwardly in his cuffed hands. He glared at the iron manacles murderously as they hindered his ability to do anything, but sighed nonetheless and enjoyed the loaf as best he could.

 

“You know, I’m not all that hungry.” He frowned as she offered another loaf to him.

 

“Fair enough.” She replied. “I’ll leave these with you anyway,” She opened the cell door a bit and set the basket down, the royal not budging from his spot on the cot, the remains of crumbs and poppy seeds scattered on his red and black attire. The door closed without incident.

 

She began to shrug on her coat and Hans looked over at her. “Where are you going?”

 

“To the mayor’s office. There’s this thing my Mom’s hosting. I’ll try to be back here soon.” She replied as she set her mug down on the desk, looking over at the prince before walking back to him. “Is something wrong?”

 

“No,” Hans answered.

 

“There is.” Emma concluded. Hans sighed.

 

“It’s just that…” He began. “the crook told me he’s alive, but I can’t do anything to find him locked away in some prison with my hands practically tied to the floor. I know he’s out there somewhere. I just…” There was reflection of despair in his aeris pupils. “I wish I could do more to look for him.”

 

Emma cocked her head. “Maybe there is.” She nodded slightly as Hans looked over at her in anticipation for an answer. “I’m going to the mayor’s office. I can just dig up the town records, see if your fiance is in there. It’ll give you something to do, anyway.”

 

The prince nodded, a bit more eagerly as if he waited with anticipation, the depression suddenly fading at the hope of a new solution. The blonde sheriff crossed the room, only to stop and cast one last look at him. Her eyes seemed to flash at him for a second before she walked up to the cell door, an inquisitive look on her face.

 

“I know this sounds paranoid, but what will happen if I let you out of those cuffs while I’m gone?”

 

Hans shrugged. “Where else would I go? I don’t even know where I’d start looking.”

 

Emma paused at this before leaning into the door, her face even closer. “I want you to know something, Hans. I’ve got this magic,” She seemed to flaunt it as a pulse of the stuff made a cooling breeze blow through the room. “but I also have a bit of a superpower, something I’ve always had. I can tell.”

 

Hans looked confused. “Tell what, the time?” He indicated her wristwatch.

 

She shook her head. “No. I can always tell when someone is lying to me.”

 

He raised an auburn brow. “And you think I’m lying.” He indicated himself with a cuffed hand. “Look at me, Emma. I’m completely at your mercy. Even if I wanted to pull an escape I don’t have any reason to leave. Granted, the cot is a little hard, but really.” The sheriff continued to stare at him, her gift apparently not seeing his genuine honesty. Hans sighed. “Look. I’ll tell you a secret. Ever since I was young, my mother wanted to conceal my powers. She did so with a pair of gloves. It always worked; at least most of the time.”

 

She looked conflicted for a moment before she realized he was being truthful about not only remaining in the cell, but his fact about the gloves were honest as well. “You’re telling the truth.”

 

“Does that mean these things can come off for a while? It’d be nice to get the feeling back in my hands.” She nodded, and unlocked the cell before unlocking the cuffs with a key that rivaled a fern leaf in detail.

 

The iron manacles clattered to the ground as she removed a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket, the black leather stretching to fit the young adults fingers. It was a tight fit, but it was rather obvious Hans was much more comfortable than he had been in the manacles. In minutes, after a final warning, Emma left the sheriff’s station as Hans enjoyed the solitude he rarely got anymore in his past and current living situations. With his appetite returning, he picked what was his favorite of the bunch, a light rye dusted in caraway seeds.

 

The bread was still warm, as if it had just left the oven. The heat easily transferred through the leather of the gloves but Hans never cared. The heat didn’t bother him at all. If anything, it brought comforting memories of the few times he’d been in the kitchen before he’d let his powers become known, his pale lithe hands rolling the flour caked dough just as his mother had taught him all those years ago. He’d always had a fondness for rye and never understood why, exactly, that was. His brothers all hated it and Kristoff was never one for bread anyhow. It was somewhat nice to have a comfort that felt so close to home it made him forget his situation in the prison cell, allowing the steaming crust and delicious aroma to take his thoughts elsewhere as he enjoyed the savory tang of the spongy inside and the crunch of the caraway seeds.

 

In minutes, the first loaf was nothing but a distant memory, and Hans reached into the basket and took another one, breaking the crust as he looked in confusion and surprise in the off white bubbles of the yeast center. Something was within the bread, and it obviously was supposed to be there, given the hollowed area around it.

 

Laying in the bowl shape was a jet black object that shimmered in the daylight that shone through the window of the cell, the shadows of the bars hardly obscuring what it was. It was square, clean cut, and was as flat as a pane of plate glass that looked as if it could shatter upon impact with anything harder than his hands.

 

“Futhark Runes.” He mused curiously as his fingers brushed the clean cut lines.

 

Through his minimal studies he’s only just managed to get a grasping of Futhark Runes, the language being ancient and extinct for the last two centuries. None of the current generation of Southern Isles princes were ever required to become learned in the language, and save for Thomas and Erik, none of them had. His mother had been fluent on the subject and even had a small section of the library devoted to the last works of the ancients, and so far Elsa had been the only reader of those stories, as the trolls system of writing was runes as well.

 

But as for Hans, his basic understanding left him as clueless as a child. The five symbols were unreadable to him, and while it irked him to no end, that wasn’t the important part. Whoever had made this glass had powers much like his if not completely alike. The shine of the obsidian wasn’t rough or grated and had absolutely no chips or cracks, as if finely molded. Even his greatest creations were never flawless. On top of that, there was a feeling of distant connection to the material almost exactly like his own intimate connections with the things he’d made since letting go. It was weak, but it was there.

 

And that was making Hans sweat on his lower back. There was someone in this town with powers just like his, and they were exactly the reason he was locked in a jail cell with the world’s worst restraining devices lying limp at his feet only because Emma had been kind enough to leave him with gloves.

 

Dribbles of black goo were forming in the palms of his hands, suggesting the faux leather wasn’t very effective at keeping his powers in. Hans took a deep breath and held it. The blackness melded into the gloves again, back to room temperature. He needed to conceal it. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t let it show.

 

* * *

 

_Long Ago in the Southern Isles..._

 

His boots clamboured monotonously on the dark stained hardwood of his brothers study, his hands gripped tightly against one another beneath the thin layer of felt and velvetine that shielded the world from complete and utter destruction. In his head he could hear the pounding of blood in his ears as he continued to breath, the release becoming a bit more ragged and lightheaded with each pace taken. Hans could feel the room warming even further with the crackling of a roaring fire in the marble hearth. The effects of his magic were twisting and spiraling from every part of him like a steadily failing waterskin.

 

For the first time in a long time he pleaded with the raw power within, begging to conceal it, don’t feel it. He couldn’t let it show more than it was in the presence of others. It was too dangerous and too risky. He closed his eyes with another deep breath.

 

“Have the scouts found anything?” He asked.

 

Thomas, Elsa, and Pedar all looked up at him from their respective duties. The massive parchment map was stretched along the oak desk of the study, the hundreds of daily letters and trade documents stacked on top of one another in mountainous piles on the little coffee table against the gabled window. Scarlet red pins of glass dotted the map of the surrounding realm, the little strip of land that made up Misthaven nearly glowing with possible locations of Kristoff and where he could’ve gone.

 

“Since you asked us ten seconds ago, no.” Elsa sighed from the large armchair, the rune tome balanced over her engorged stomach.

 

“I still can’t believe him.” Hans grumbled. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to admire his fiancee for finding such an obvious loophole in his promise. He wanted to brand him with a fire poker, and now he wanted to do it even harder.

 

“He did sleep on it, Hans.” Thomas reminded him. “And while it’s not customary for the groom to disappear two weeks before the wedding, you know he did this for you.”

 

“For me.” Hans echoed with a mirthless chuckle. “Need I remind you I ran away from this blasted kingdom _for him_ ? That I threw a massive birthday party that nearly killed me _for him_ ? That I nearly died _for him?!_ Those were all terrible ideas that easily couldn’t ruined everything if it weren’t for one thing!”

 

“His love of warm hugs?” Pedar guessed with sarcasm that the prince was too distraught to notice.

 

“No, you idiot! It was luck that saved us! Something tells me him going alone is only hurting matters.” He snipped.

 

“Hans,” Elsa slammed the tome shut and set it on her lap. “You know there was more than luck to your life every time. Who ran off to the north mountain? Who saved you from falling off the clock tower? Who threw himself _in front of a homicidal maniac_ to save your ass?”

 

The auburn glared at her, a dull glow in his fiery, determined eyes. “Kristoff did.” He answered finally.

 

“Then you need to get this through your thick, princely skull.” She crossed her arms as Pedar and Thomas stared at her in shock. “What is the difference between all those times and now?”

 

Hans tried to keep his eyes hard, the realization of her little outburst sinking into his skin like razor sharp shards of glass. Kristoff was doing this for him. It was dangerous, it was risky, it was any bad scenario he could possibly think of multiplied and rolled into one. But Kristoff was still doing it. He was doing it all because he couldn’t stand to let Hans feel any guilt or remorse over the queen or his father. It was out of love for him. The room remained silent aside from the ‘bastard’ Hans whispered under his breath.

 

Thomas finally broke the silence after a moment. “Thank you, Elsa. That needed to be said.”

 

Hans glared at his king brother. “Oh, so now you’re taking her side?”

 

“I’m the king, brother. I need to take sides. And I’m going to be perfectly honest in that you’re getting all worked up over practically nothing. Kristoff could be in danger, yes, but he could also be completely unscathed. We’ve been in this study for nearly five hours going over every farm, village and _anthill_ in Misthaven and the only conformation we’ve gotten is the ship arrived back in the harbor safely. An interrogation of the entire crew has told us he disembarked into the kingdom with no ailments other than some seasickness. The way we bribed them, they would’ve told us if he’d gotten a measly _splinter._ ” He laughed in audacity at that last part.

 

“You need to calm down and relax if we’re going to find him; maybe do something to take your mind off of this whole thing.” With that, the king shifted the map to the other side of the desk, and sat down in his chair.

 

“Well, what do you recommend?” Hans walked over to the desk and pressed his gloved hands to the polished surface.

 

“Gee, Hans, I really don’t know. Maybe you could start _wedding preparations._ ” He snapped lightly before massaging his forehead and pushing the trimmed nutmeg curls out of the way. Hans looked at him as if not satisfied, and he groaned. “Look, Hans. Just go; take a walk. Leave me for a while and I’ll come back to you if I need anything, alright?”

 

The prince nodded in compliance and left the room, the heat dissipating with his departure. Thomas groaned again and stretched, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to remove the weighted feeling that had overtaken him. “You don’t think I was too hard on him, was I?” He sighed. Pedar shook his head.

 

“No, I don’t think so, your majesty. Prince Hans has been working all three of us ragged and really, it had to stop. I know Kristoff is to be prince consort, but we’ve got our own little prince or princess on the way. I don’t want to miss a second more of my wife’s-”

 

“Stop it right there.” Elsa cut him off. “I’ll be more than glad when this thing is out of me.”

 

“Elsa, come on. Can’t you at least _pretend_ to be excited?” The huntsman put both hands on her small shoulders from behind the armchair.

 

She jerked herself from his comfort. “I pretended to be excited the first six weeks. After that, it was all downhill.”

 

He couldn’t stop himself from finding humor in her pessimism. “Seriously, you didn’t enjoy _any_ of the process?” He winked as Elsa suddenly began to giggle.

 

“No.” Thomas snapped lightly. “I’ve heard enough about that from my brother. The absolute _last_ thing I need now is to hear what you two do behind closed doors.”

 

Both of them burst out laughing. “It’s that bad?” Elsa managed to ask between their collective mirth. Thomas groaned with a roll of his eyes.

 

“I agree with those three words. There’s your answer.” He sighed and went back to the maps, his face a bit red as they continued to laugh. “Will you both stop? I’m trying to read.”

 

Both barely got the chance to finish their apologies before a knock sounded at the door to the room, the polite rapping echoing across the study before Thomas tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he called for whoever it was to enter.

 

“Simon.” He nodded before deflating. “I see you found Prince Hans.”

 

“Am I missing something, your majesty?” The rotund announcer asked as the fire prince stepped into the room.

 

“No,” Thomas looked at his youngest brother. “I just hope this is some kind of good news.”

 

“I’m afraid, your majesty, this is not good news.” He deadpanned. The king ordered to proceed as he eyed Hans with silent suspicion, having a sinking feeling it was something to do with either Kristoff, his brother, or both. He got his answer, and was anything but pleased to hear it.

 

“I’m afraid one of scouts found something in the east woods.” He began as he removed a slip of parchment from his pocket. “It was one of the lumbermen in a village by the border. He and his group spotted something-” He paused as the room began to warm. “It wasn’t anything to do with Ice Master Kristoff, unfortunately.” The study cooled again as the thirteenth prince seemed satisfied with this answer.

 

“Well what did they see, then?” Thomas stepped from behind his desk and over to the royal announcer.

 

“I think you should read it for yourself.” He sighed, handing the folded parchment to the king. The crisp wax seal was split in a moment as the messenger took an instinctive step back, as if anticipating some sort of heinous reaction.

 

The king's face went pale as the soft light of the full moon as he scanned the scrawled writing of the lumberjack, his lips and tongue moving in time with the letter as he read and reread it. It was almost as if he couldn’t grasp the meaning the first or second time. The words sunk in and he repeated them with a barely audible gulp.

 

“There is an army on our border. The lumberjack has spotted the torch lights in the forests of Weselton. It’s an army of nearly five hundred waiting to strike.” He paused and moved back towards the desk as if he lacked the support to stand on his own. “And what’s more, there’s an army of ten within the border already…” His eyes fell to the ground as he set the parchment aside. “led by the Duchess herself.”

 

It was unnerving to everyone, himself the most, at how unsettled the sixth prince seemed by this news. Everyone in the room knew that there was no real chance of defeating Weselton once the army crossed the border. The Southern Isles was a powerful nation, but it’s trade relied on navy, and primarily so. The connections to the islands were performed by ships and the occasional bridge that withstood the pounding of high and low tides. A land army was next to nonexistent, and with the news arriving now, the possibility of raising one was almost out of the question. But there was an elephant in the room, and it was Hans who brought it to light.

 

“This doesn’t make any sense. Why is she waging war when I can turn her army into glass figurines?”

 

“Because she’s just that crazy?” Pedar suggested in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.

 

“While I think we can all agree on that,” Thomas countered. “the duchess may be crazy but she certainly isn’t stupid. She must somehow think she can beat us.”

 

“I might have the answer to that, your majesty.” Simon piped up.

 

Everyone looked on at the eldest man in the room, the telltale wrinkles on his face belying the youth he held within. Simon was a natural strategist, as he’d won the most games of chess in the palace hands down. This talent for leadership earned him not only the title of head announcer but also head of housekeeping and palace maintenance, Gretta his second in command.

 

“Well, go on, Simon. I’m sure we’d all like to hear it.” Thomas broke the silent suspense.

 

He nodded curtly. “There was mention of a weapon; verbally of course. An object that has the capabilities to ensnare creatures and beings with magical abilities. How it works, I can’t exactly say. All the man said was it could trap people like his majesty, Prince Hans, and that it was apparently older than the nation itself.”

 

Elsa’s brow contorted. “Like an urn,”

 

“An urn?” Hans raised an eyebrow. Elsa nodded and held up the tome of runes. She began to wildly flipped through the vast sections of nearly unreadable lines and symbols, her pale finger trailing the inked words lost to time.

 

“Yes. There was something about that in here.” She continued to look on as the rest of the room quieted as if it helped her look faster. The brunette nodded quickly as she indicated the page and held it up to Pedar, who looked over the parchment before carelessly tearing it from the tome and presenting it to the king. Thomas didn’t seem to mind that he’d just damaged a priceless treasure of the library and his mother.

 

He studied the page, smoothing the edges on the oak wood of the desk as everyone gathered around to view it. It was a two dimensional drawing of a possibly life-sized urn. There was a normal shape to it, and ropes of metallic chain draped around the lid. It wasn’t tarnished and from the looks of it seemed to have no wear or damage. It also seemed inconspicuous, but every single person crowded around the desk knew it was anything but ordinary.

 

“Simon,” Thomas pressed. “did the scout report anything else about the urn regarding location?”

 

“Yes, your majesty. I believe he heard the urn was located on the northeast coast of the country.” Elsa scanned the parchment to see if it had any form of details about location that could prove or disprove this new piece of information, and gave a nod of agreement.

 

“One question I have though is how did she know about it? There can’t have been more than one of these things.” She gestured to the parchment.

 

“I have absolutely no idea.” Thomas admitted. “But how she knew about it doesn’t matter. There is no time to waste. Simon, round up the horses and instruct Gretta to prepare some previsions. We need to get there before she does.”

 

“Wait.” Pedar held up a hand. “Who exactly is _we_?”

 

“A squadron of guards, myself, and enough weaponry to subdue her; if it should come to that.” The king answered curtly.

 

“No.” The huntsman disagreed. “An army will only draw attention. You need someone with experience. Elsa and I have spent our entire lives running through these woods.”

 

“And you’re suggesting we take a heavily pregnant woman into what could be a battleground?”

 

“Of course not!” Pedar rolled his eyes. “I’m saying don’t take an army. Take me.”

 

Thomas frowned. “Elsa is giving birth any day now. I think it’s best if the father is alive.”

 

“Um, guys? I’m still here, y’know.” The lumberjane piped up from her position to their right, her arms crossed over her stomach.

 

Pedar looked at his wife. “So I take it you don’t want me going?”

 

Elsa sighed. “As much as I don’t want you to, it may be the best option for the safety of the kingdom. Besides, I’m pretty sure you can handle-” She cut herself off for a moment as if reconsidering her acceptance of him leaving her side for more than a few days. Her stomach seemed to jolt a bit. “Yes.” She nodded with her eyes shut. “You can handle yourself.”

 

“Don’t you forget it.” Pedar replied under his breath.

 

“Provided you take Hans with you.” She quickly tacked on. Everyone stared at Elsa, not expecting her to insist upon taking the fire prince on this journey.

 

“Elsa, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. We don’t want to risk Hans getting caught in the crosshairs and I frankly don’t want to be on the receiving end of the stick if the duchess does, in fact, get there first.” Thomas argued.

 

The head servant spoke next. “Be that as it may you two can’t go up against an army of ten well trained men without some kind of weapon. And from what I’ve seen, neither of you are at par with a soldier's knowledge of hand-to-hand combat. Prince Hans might be the best defense you have.” Simon countered as he took a step towards the lumberjane.

 

“But there’s a chance we won’t even meet the duchess. We can’t have the only heir and my brother at risk. I don’t want to take the chance of his life falling into her hands.” The king looked at Hans with a hint of worry glowing behind his eyes.

 

“Stop pretending like I’m not here, if you will.” Hans snapped lightly. The attention turned to him. “I am not just some flamethrower you can take into battle and use against the duchess. I am a human being, and more importantly a powerful human being. I’m coming with you on my own accord. If the duchess or her goons come within ten feet I’ll handle them like last time. And if we find the urn first, we destroy it before she can get her hands on it. Destroy the weapon, win the war.” Silence was exchanged as everyone looked at one another, conveying the prince’s words that marked his part in the plan. Finally, Thomas cleared his throat.

 

“Hans, I’m assuming I can’t talk you out of this?” He guessed as the auburn haired man shook his head curtly. “Alright then. We leave tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

The click and slam of the door to the sheriff’s station echoed loudly in the corridor and jolted the prince from his trance as the slide of glass released from his gloved hands and fell with a nearly inaudible clack to the concrete floor. It remained intact, however, and instinctively Hans slammed his boot down to cover the engraved shard of obsidian from anyone that might see it. His shock compounded as he saw Hook enter the room, the keys rung around the gleaming silver of his hooked hand.

 

“Hook, right?” He guessed. The pirate confirmed his suspicions with a nod and a ‘yes.’ “What are you doing here?” Emma appeared next to him.

 

“Let me see your hands.” She ordered as Hans held them both up, the gloves in perfect condition. She sighed a bit as if relieved.

 

“Are either of you going to tell me what’s going on, here?” He asked, his hands still up as Emma removed another key ring from his jacket pocket, running her fingers along the different shapes and shades as she eyed for one in particular.

 

“Something happened at the Mayor’s office.” Hook answered setting the other keys on the desk. “A young lass by the name of Marian is now burning up with a fever, and her skin and hair are  grey as a corpse. Everyone seems to think you’re responsible.”

 

“Me,” Hans echoed as his hands gestured to his chest. “how could I have done anything? I was here the whole time, and locked in cuffs, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

 

“Then what are the bloody gloves for, pyro?” Hook accused.

 

“These things work as well as the cuffs,” Hans countered, his teeth gritted. “and if you call me pyro _one more time_ -”

 

“Will you both please _shut up?_ ” Emma interrupted the royal as he and Hook continued to stare threateningly at one another. “We do _not_ have time to argue about this. Hans is telling the truth.” She said as she held up the key to unlock the cell.

 

“How can you be sure, Swan?” Hook asked as the cell door clicked open with the key slid into the tumblers.

 

“Because we’re alike. We both have magic.” She answered curtly as she pulled the gate open and the prince stepped out of his cell, picking the glass slide from the sole of his boot and dropping it into his pants pocket.

 

“So does Gold and you two are practically twins.” Hook countered with a distinctive tone of sarcasm.

 

“Then we both want to shut you up right now.” Emma snapped at him and turned to Hans, the princes eyes wide in surprise from the things she’d said to her boyfriend. “We need to get you out of here and somewhere safe. There’s a mob marching down Main Street right now calling for your blood and I don’t want anyone getting hurt from assumptions. Hook,” She turned to the pirate. “I get that you two have trust issues but do me a favor. Take Hans to the library and hide him in the vault. When I find out who did this I’ll call you, alright?”

 

“Actually,” Hans piped up. “I think I might know. There’s someone else in this town with magic like mine. I didn’t realize it until I found this.” He dug into his pocket and held out the slide of volcanic glass. The sheriff took it and squinted.

 

“What the bloody hell is it?” Hook narrowed his eyes as Emma took a magnifying glass and studied the runes.

 

“How should I know?” Emma shook her head. “I don’t speak elvish.”

 

“Elvish?” Hans raised an eyebrow. “Those are Futhark runes. They’re an ancient language back in my land. I’ve never been one for translations, but find out what it says, then you might have your answer.”

 

“Alright. I’ll round up my dad and we’ll start the search, maybe look for Belle.” Emma nodded and put the glass slide in her pocket.

 

“But what about this Marian? How long ago did she start showing symptoms?” Hans questioned at the visions of his fiancee’s ash sculpted features flashed before his eyes, the still figure shining in the first rays of sun peeking through dark clouds on the day of his heatwave.

  

“She just started feeling faint about ten minutes ago. Her husband and Regina are trying to work out some kind of spell.” Hans could’ve asked who Regina was, but didn’t. Instead, he seemed agitated.

 

“She doesn’t have much time.” He shook his head. “The curse of a burning soul messes with memories and destroys someone once it reaches the heart.”

 

“You know this, how?” Emma pressed.

 

Hans sighed. “Let’s just say I know from experience. The only way to quell the flames is an act of true love… her husband would help, probably.”

 

The blonde sheriff nodded in compliance and pulled Hook aside. The two talked for a few moments before Emma turned and left the room, leaving the pirate with her set of keys to the town. From the look on his face, he definitely didn’t seem happy with the conversation or the outcome of it.

 

“Come on,” Hook groaned as his gaze drifted to Hans. “Let’s go.”   

 

“I take it she’s persuasive.” The prince guessed as the pair began to walk from the station.

 

“Aye.” Hook agreed. “But that’s what makes her worth it.”

 

* * *

 

The sun was approaching climax in the ten o’clock sky as the tired rays of the morning peeked through the vibrant green of the treetops. King Thomas, Prince Hans, and Huntsman Pedar hiked through the leaf littered forest floor, a warm September breeze rustling around them. They were doing this mostly on foot, the horses and Olaf having been left tied to a tree further back but within sprinting distance. Pedar decided it was the best choice of action as they didn’t want to draw any suspicion that they were there, from a citizen or otherwise. This of course meant no telling clothes for the two royal siblings. This proved to be no struggle for the king, but for Hans it was a fairly different matter. Clothes that weren’t of his own design were more than easily compromised with his magic, but the all three of them simply hoped the gloves would keep that from happening. So far, it hadn’t been in vain.

 

The parchment with the charcoal drawing of the urn they were attempting to find was creased and folded in scabbard of the huntsman’s belt, and had recently been tucked back where it was after he determined they were headed in the right direction to reach the caves. The distant spray of salty air and gushing of ocean waves could be heard along with the monotonous crunch of the autumn leaves.

 

“So,” The king began. “which one of these caves do you think the urn will be in?”

 

“With any luck, one of them.” Pedar shrugged, not knowing if there was authenticity to the parchment or his wife’s talent for reading runes. “This piece of parchment could be centuries old and the urn could already have been destroyed.”

 

“I somehow doubt that.” Hans answered from his place in the back of the trio. “She wouldn’t have come all this way unless she knew where it was.”

 

“All the more reason to move faster.” The hunter picked up his pace.

 

“Thomas,” Hans questioned as the pair fell into stride. “If that urn is as old as I think it is, do you realize what that means? There must’ve been others like me.”

 

“Other annoying brothers? That, I can picture.”

 

“No!” Hans groaned. “I mean others with powers like mine. Think about it.”

 

Thomas paused for a moment. “Two of you. I can barely stand one.” A grin crept up his face as Hans elbowed him in the shoulder. “Sorry. Force of habit. I do get it though. You were the last of the brood; thirteenth out of thirteenth. I mean with your own set of parents, it could’ve been anything.”

 

“My own set of parents?” Hans seemed confused.

 

“Sure. I mean we’re only half brothers on mother’s side. It could’ve been anything that gave you your powers.”

 

“Anything.” The thirteenth prince echoed “Why does that feel a lot more specific than it is?”

 

“I really don’t know.” He shook his head. “But granted, I don’t think anyone really knows how you came along. Mother just showed up to court with a belly one day and a few months later there you were, feverish and all.”

 

Hans looked at the king, his brother, for a few beats of his pulse. His father was a rarely discussed subject between the former queen and anyone, much less himself. There were no palace accounts of him, nothing under the country’s records to look for, and his mother hardly ever said anything of him unless it was to commend him as a father and king consort. Hans didn’t even know what he looked like. Nobody seemed to realize he even existed.

 

“Why do you think he isn’t around?” Hans asked without breath and in a tone that suggested exactly who he was referring to.

 

“I don’t know,” Thomas replied. “I mean, we do know he was once king consort. We know he’s your father, but aside from that there’s nothing to go on. Mother never even said his name, much less what happened. I can’t remember anything about him and sadly enough, I don’t think anyone does. Maybe it was to avoid scandal?”

 

Hans shook his head. “It couldn’t have been a scandal if he was king consort. That just couldn’t have happened and left me in its wake. We all know illegitimate children are crossed of the tree and forgotten.”

 

“Well, regardless, I don’t think it really matters where you came from, Hans. We know you’re a prince, we know you’re special, and we know you’re a pain in the ass. But that’s all that matters. If you really want to you can look through the records when we get back to the palace and see what you can find. After we subdue the duchess and the urn, of course.”

 

“Right.” He repeated. “Stop the duchess, destroy the urn, get Kristoff back, _then_ tear the record room to pieces.” He failed to illicit a laugh from his king brother although there was a playful grin when he rolled his eyes. “Besides, if there were other people like me, it’d have been nice to not be alone anymore.”

 

“You’re not alone, Hans. You’ve got me and Kristoff.” He reminded his brother.

 

“Well yeah, I do.” He admitted. “And I love you both, but as much as I know you’d love to point out, we’re not the same.”

 

“And we’re not.” Thomas replied simply.

 

“And you’re not getting the point. I have this power, and you both have-” He paused for a moment. “Normal body temperatures?” He guessed with a shrug. “Either way, my point is you’re not magic; not like I am. It’d be nice to have someone like that one day.”

 

“Yeah, who knows?” Pedar shrugged from the head of the trio. “You and Kristoff could have some cute kids.”

 

Hans turned red as his hair as he slapped a gloved hand to his mouth in a failed attempt to cover his amusement, Thomas having turned a shade of white paler than snow as he visibly shivered for a second. It was incomprehensible and impossible. They could never have kids, right? Had they ever-

 

“Nope.” The king deleted the thought before it could even get any further. “I am not going down that road today, or ever.” The whisper was barely audible, but the smirk that appeared on the huntsman’s face suggested his jab had succeeded with remarkable success.

 

“You would probably understand, Pedar.” Hans replied.

 

“Understand what?”

 

“What it’s like to have magic around. You’re from Misthaven, right?”

 

Pedar snorted. “Once upon a time.” His tone suggested he didn’t want to continue the conversation. “Magic isn’t what it’s painted out to be, though. It’s not a fix to problems, it’s not a guarantee. It always comes at a price; and a heavy one, at that.”

 

“I guess I can see that.” Hans nodded in agreement. His magic had a massive price, and it came with isolation.

 

There was feeling of disconnection he got with many that was more than likely attributed to his power of heat and fire; how he could spark a flame in his hand and build a palace rivaling a volcano in under a few moments while others of normal birth simply couldn’t fathom the burdens it carried. The huntsman held a fresh green tree bough aside like a door as the king and prince followed him through.  

 

“Still, why did you leave?” The king asked as they continued, the ground getting much rougher and ragged with every foot or so.

 

“Let’s just say staying wasn’t exactly in my best interest.” Pedar grunted as he scaled a hump in the hill.

 

“If I had someone else like me, I’d be in no rush to go-”

 

“Watch out!” Pedar threw a hand in front of the prince as the rocks crumpled at the tips of his boots before cascading off the massive face of a cliff. He’d singlehandedly saved his life.

 

A brief silence passed as both royals surveyed the rocky gorge before them, the thin line of turquoise sea barely visible beyond the stretch of horizon. The noonday sun sat high in the pale blue sky as the woodsman removed a coiled length of rope from the pack on his back.

 

“You know, I’m surprised we’ve never been out this far.” Thomas looked at the splendor that was his country.

 

“Well to be honest, I wish I’d run in the opposite direction during the coronation. This is one hell of a view.” Hans released a low whistle.

 

“Alright ladies, I get you never leave the palace but we need to keep going. We didn’t come all this way to watch the sunset, now did we?” Pedar rolled his green eyes as he got down on one knee to survey the rocky ground.

 

“What are you doing?” Hans raised an eyebrow.

 

“Checking for weak spots. We’re repelling down.”

 

“Repelling?” Both royals echoed the foreign word. The huntsman groaned.

 

“Climbing down. Y’know, with a rope?” He clarified. “What, did you think we’d just be taking the stairs?”

 

Hans’ eyes glowed for a split second and he raised a gloved hand, poised for action before his brother held his own hand up and brought his ambitions crashing to the ground. Thomas looked at him. “We can’t, Hans. We’re under cover, remember? Nothing telling, got it?”

 

The prince nodded, albeit slowly.

 

“Alright.” Pedar nodded. “Watch your feet. This will take a moment to adjust to.” With that, he threw the rope over the edge, and tied a knot around a strong looking branch that could hopefully hold them all, one at a time.

 

* * *

 

The amount of stealth Hook purpotrated on his mission to get Hans away from the danger of the Storybrooke Sheriff Station was rather uncanny. The main street was rain soaked from morning dew, cars were parked up and down the street, and the only sounds to be heard other than polite conversation of passing townsfolk was the chirping of songbirds and the chatter of squirrels. It was unassuming, easy, and as Hook had described it, all the more deceiving. And this was the main reason he and Hook were ducking through alleys, avoiding people like one would do in approach to a mud puddle. Of course, one doesn’t hide from a mud puddle, but given the pirate’s attitude, he was hardly trustful of anything or anyone, and that included the innocuous.

 

They had just ducked into a narrow corridor between the minute space between two little buildings, Hans unsure if they were any closer to the library then they had been half an hour ago after disembarking from the sheriff’s station. The footfalls of the couple walking past faded, and Hook motioned for the prince to follow him out. Hans did so, but he refused to move, his legs planted firmly to the concrete slab of sidewalk.

 

“What are you doing, pyro?” Hook wrinkled his nose.

 

“ _Hans,_ ” He growled. “And I’m not going with you any further.”

 

“Why not?” Hook seemed irritated.

 

“Because like it or not there’s someone out there with magic like mine, using it to hurt people, to frame me. Do you honestly think I’m going to let Emma or her father risk their lives against a force they know next to nothing about?”

 

The pirate scoffed. “Well you obviously don’t know much about it either.”

 

“I guess I don’t.” Hans admitted, his eyes steely. “But I know the power of magic like mine. That wall of glass, that’s only a drop in the ocean and I’m barely a novice. Imagine if someone not only had that power but knew how to control it. We’ve got magic on our hands, and I think we both know it’s not the comforting kind.”

 

Hook seemed to contemplate what the prince said to him for a split second before replying. “Are we both on the same page here, mate?”

 

“Well, I’m not going to just hide in a vault and wait for this whole thing to blow over like some helpless kid.” Hans crossed his arms defiantly.

 

“Then I guess we are.” Hook nodded. “And I guess Emma only thinks she has the real slide.” It was the fire prince’s turn to nod. “Then it’s settled. We’re off.”

 

“Off _where_?” Hans pressed as the pair began walking. “Not the library?”

 

“‘Course not. The library’s back that way.” Hook gestured with his good hand to the opposite direction. Hans turned his head and realized he was obviously gullible enough to follow Hook when the clock tower of the library loomed well behind them.

 

“And what’s that way?” He asked in a no-nonsense tone. Hook grinned slightly in a manner that suggested he was enjoying this endeavor more than he had let on.

 

“With any luck, answers, adventure, and danger.”

 

“Spoken like a true pirate.” Hans rolled his eyes as he followed Hook down the sidewalk. “Really though, where are we going?”

 

The pirate didn’t seem to acknowledge his question for a moment, and didn’t face him for the answer. “Have faith, pyro. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

 

Hans pondered the question with each footfall in the direction of the pirate captains choosing. Where was his sense of adventure? He’d always been one to accept challenges in the face of adversity, to run down the stairs until he either tripped and hurt himself for Kristoff put a stop to it with his sensible attitude. What was changing his decisions now, of all times? If he was to be perfectly honest with himself, it was because there was nobody to stop him, to keep his recklessness from going too far. He didn’t want to risk anything that might stop him from getting his fiance back. Of course, he was contradicting his own promises right now, but there was diffusion of responsibility to consider. After all, Hook had already been leading him away from where they were supposed to go. He’d just come along idly and not protested in the least. His brother would’ve considered it a corrupt way of thinking, but at the moment, Hans cared least of all to be honest in a situation and _world_ like this.

 

“I’m guessing still back in the Southern Isles.” He replied dully.

 

“The Southern Isles,” Hook echoed. “Lovely country. Sailed there once or twice. Never knew you were from there.”

 

“Thank you,” Hans replied. “I just hope that there is a kingdom for me to call home when I get back.”

 

“What do you mean by that?” Hook raised a dark brow.

 

“Well I can’t remember how I came to be in that urn at all.” The prince shook his head. “Anything could’ve happened while I was gone, even if it wasn’t for centuries like I’d assumed.” The pirate seemed confused at the mention of the word centuries. “Something about a time travelling spell. I heard you and Emma talking about the twenty first century and thought I’d been trapped in there for much longer.”

 

“So how long were you stuck in the bloody urn?”

 

Hans shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like I had a calendar or anything.”

 

Hook nodded. “Fair enough.”

 

“All I do know is the lid came off, and I came out looking like I’d been through a lot with my wedding ring in hand.”

 

“Now when you say a lot,” Hook began but Hans answered for him.

 

“I already said I don’t know. If something had happened, let’s just say I’d have been much less lenient.” The prince sighed soulfully as they reached the exterior of a blue paneled building, the sign dark and the blinds drawn. Hook continued, and Hans stopped dead. “Why are we going back here?” His voice was dry.

 

The pirate turned. “Because like it or not, the crocodile is the only thing in this town with magic powerful enough to find your friend.”

 

Hans scoffed. “Oh, and somehow he’s going to help me, the man who broke into his shop and should currently be in handcuffs right now?”

 

“Your involvement in this won’t come to pass, if you give me that slide.” Hook shot back.

 

“Even if I did give it to you,” The pyromantic royal narrowed his aeris brown eyes. “what guarantee do you have that he’ll help either of us? From your personal description I can guess you two don’t have the best relationship.”

 

Hook groaned slightly. “The crocodile is a man who likes deals. Have the right price, and you might just get what you’re after.”

 

Not having any more reason other than a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Hans sighed in a tortured manner and handed the pirate the real slide. The sparkling flawless obsidian disappeared from view rather quickly as the pirate placed it in his pocket. With nothing left to lose and the small hope that Hook knew what he was doing, the prince followed him into the dark shop.

 

As Hook had said, he was quickly overlooked by Gold and chose to busy himself looking at a stuffed doll that looked remarkably similar to the ones Elsa called her family. It’s grey eyes were shut peacefully, its mouth forming a small smile until Hans realized that it wasn’t a toy, but a statue, carved of the roughest stone. He looked on at the petrified creature, Elsa having explained what happened to trolls who died. The multiple white caps and cracks suggested this one had lived to a ripe old age. His hands held one another in a moment of silent respect until Hook interrupted it.

 

“Good news,” He called across and the prince knew he had the smallest of a smile on. “He’s agreed to help.” Hans turned and strolled towards the two other men.

 

Hook removed the glass slide from his pocket and handed it to Hans. “I found this slide. Whoever made it has magic like mine, and we need to find out who that is. And if we can find him or her, chances are you’ve got the reason I couldn’t get rid of the wall.” He then handed the delicate black piece to the shopkeeper behind the counter. “Can you read what it says?”

 

Gold studied it for a moment, but shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot. However, you happen to be in luck.” Both of them focused on the Dark One. “Magic can take many forms. A dagger,” He eyed Hook. “a poisonous apple,” He frowned at the slide. “and even a piece as gorgeous as this.” His beady eyes finally rose to the prince. “But as much as it could change forms, it can never truly be destroyed or unwound; especially in the case of your magic, dearie.”

 

“But my magic-”

 

“Has always had the illusion of disappearing.” Gold finished for him as the aburns face became pale. “It always changes form, back to the state it came from. Ashes to ashes,” The smallest of a smirk overcame the crocodile at Hans’ look of awe and sickness. “dust to dust.”

 

He gulped. “So you’re saying that my magic-”

 

“Only changes forms. Thankfully for you, that form is abstract thought when is comes back to basics. As we can’t very well follow a measly thought, I’ll simply return it to its closest physical form.” With that, a glow overtook the slide of glass as the crystalline material dissolved and glowed. Curls of bronze red fire materialized from the millions of fragments.

 

Despite his initial and tiny scoff, the prince still looked on. “A fire.” Hans concluded thoughtfully.

 

“Yes, indeed.” Mr. Gold agreed. “An element like this is a powerful thing. It’s magic is quite similar to yours, son.” He paused. “But not the same.”

 

Inside, beneath the surface, Hans released a heavy sigh of relief, knowing he wasn’t in fact responsible for the Maid Marion or the wall around the town. However, his relief was short lived as reality set in. If there was someone with magic like his that was being used to hurt an innocent, it was but a personal blessing. Even if he wasn’t to blame for the the damage to this town, it was hardly comforting to know there was someone more adept and therefore dangerous than he was running rampant here.

 

“Like a fire or a snowflake, each person’s magic is unique. If you please,” He motioned to the fire prince to lift his hand to the level of the bronze red flame, and a fire welled into his palm, cackling lightly as they observed the comparison. They were in fact, nearly identical. However, Hans’ fire was a bit smaller, weaker, and was less a burgundy and more a scarlet-orange. “It’s not the same, but very much alike. It appears I might’ve been incorrect about you.” The shopkeeper looked at Hans. “You have my sincerest of apologies.”

 

While his tone sounded anything but sincere, Hans figured he needed to take what he could get. Hook raised a bushed brow at the dancing flame as the prince extinguished his own magic by shutting his fingers in a fist. “This is all touching,” He began with sarcasm. “but how does a bloody candle help us?”

 

“Well, magic seeks out like magic. It’s an unbreakable bond, and a burden to those who don’t want to be found. If I set this fire free, it will go back to its place of origin.” The fire suddenly lept from Gold’s palm and began to slowly levitate through the air towards the front door of the shop.

 

Hans’ eyes grew wide as they followed the glowing object to the door. Wherever or whoever this flame went to meant danger, intrigue, and possibly hundreds of questions answered. And he wasn’t about to waste that chance. The jingling bell echoed through the shop as Hans followed the fire trail, Hook following his almost blind footsteps.

 

* * *

 

The small cave that the group first went into had a yawning mouth that was easily the size of the Southern Isles gates back home, the stone that made up the entirety of the facade dry despite the evidence of water deposits all around. Jagged columns of stalactites and stalagmites stood around the edges of the walls like a slowly encroaching row of jagged teeth, over time moving closer and closer to the center as if the cave were slowly melting. It was innocuous and completely silent save for the distant chatter of bats in the ceilings that probably stretched up for miles. Pedar led the group in, a smouldering torch in his hand as the three men looked around.

 

“Hans, if you would.” Thomas chided lightly.

 

The prince seemed hesitant at first to disregard his brothers warnings, but a medium sized flame appeared in his hand a few moments later, the gray glove tucked away in his pocket for the moment. The king thanked his brother, patting him on the shoulder as Pedar took advantage of the new light and saw an old torch holster, the black iron showing minor warping and rust.

 

The room was set aglow as the torch made work of the dry kindling piled there who knew how many years before, and the splendor of the cave was only magnified with the addition of light. However the trio hadn’t set out for cave. What they had set out for laid only about twenty feet directly in front of them. The urn was resting on a shelf that was seemingly carved into a massive boulder, the silver body reflecting the dancing flames of the torch holster that brought light to the room. It was undisturbed, and looked hardly worthy of ensnaring a magical being. But looks could easily be deceiving.

 

“There it is.” Pedar smiled broadly at the urn.

 

“Is that it?” Hans seemed skeptical.

 

“Well, it’s an urn. I doubt keeping identical ones in caves is a custom around here.” The huntsman strolled back to him with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He shook his head. “I mean is this really all it is? How do we know there won’t be any traps?”

 

“Why guard the weapon, brother? Seems rather pointless. If anything we should be worried about the urn itself.” The king strolled up to the sterling silver decoration with no difficulty whatsoever. Pedar remained where he was as Hans followed his brother, leaning up against one of the columns and tracing his fingers on the worn Glasglow smile that had been buried under weeks of brown stubble.

 

“Alright.” Prince Hans nodded as the both of them looked at the urn. “Let’s destroy this thing, unless you’d like to do the honors. You are the eldest.”

 

“ _Sixth_ eldest.” Thomas reminded his brother. “Besides, it’s a weapon that stops your powers. I think you should use your magic.”

 

“Do you think that’s safe?” Hans wondered aloud. “I mean, this thing could somehow sense it and trap me.”

 

“And then I’ll be here to get you back out. Don’t worry Hans. We beat the duchess.” Thomas said barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

 

“Speaking of the duchess,” Pedar reminded them from his point by the entrance. “I don’t think we should risk overstaying our welcome. Are either of you two going to smash that urn or do I have to bash it with my hatchet while you argue?”

 

“He’s got a point.” Hans admitted as his hands wrapped around the gleaming silver decoration, his fingers warming the precious metal as he attempted to melt the object from existence. But suddenly, before any damage could be done, an inscription, clean and legible, appeared on the urns face. The divots darkened into a simple code of runes.

 

“What is it, Hans?” The king narrowed his gaze at the urn.

 

Hans huffed in confusion. “There’s… there’s something written on here. They look like runes. You can read them, right?” He handed the urn to his brother.

 

Thomas studied the writing for a moment. “It says ‘dangerous, keep away!’”

 

“That is _not_ what it says. Hand it back.” He glared.

 

The brunette scoffed. “And here I thought you’d appreciate the warning. I can only read younger Futhark, and that looks to be elder script.”

 

“Does it really matter what that thing says?” Pedar called out. “Let’s just destroy it and get out of here.”

 

“It does matter,” Hans shot back. “I’m the only one out of thirteen princes and my entire family with magic of any sort, especially like this. I’d like to know why.”

 

“Hans, there are plenty of opportunities to find out about your powers. There’s the record room in the palace,” Thomas shot a look at Pedar.

 

“Or the trolls could be helpful,” He suggested modestly, both hands behind his back.

 

“And Kristoff, he’s out on this journey specifically to find out why mother left on that journey. If it had anything to do with you-”

 

“Then it’ll be all the worse.” Hans finished for the king. “I want to know why I was given these powers and this urn may be the only surefire answer I’ll get.”

 

“That is not true Hans, and you know it. We’ve only begun to scratch the surface on something like this. But right now, you could destroy that urn for yours and the kingdom's own good before something goes awry and you get trapped in the crosshairs and doom us all to a life under the Duchesses rule.” The king argued as his sibling continued to spy the runes with considerable disinterest in what his brother was saying.

 

“I want to know, Thomas. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by.” Hans replied with little feeling as if he had been ignoring his king's little speech.

 

Thomas frowned. “Please, Hans, take it from your brother and your king. You have to trust me when I say one chance doesn’t hold all the answers. Now, I command you to-”

 

“No!” Hans responded angrily, the room suddenly growing humid. “You may be my older brother and king but you do not know best. Not for me, you don’t. You’ve never had powers with an intimate connection to every emotion you face. You’ve never had to be afraid of touching people without scorching them to cinders. _You’ve_ never had to hold a force with the sheer raw power to wipe an entire kingdom with centuries of history from existence! You do not get to command me. Not this time, Thomas. You may be the king, but I am a powerful prince. And this time, you will listen to me!”

 

The cave fell silent in a moment of awe at Hans’ outburst before the king conceded with a nod of his head. Hans didn’t even get a chance to glance back at the urn before the marching footfalls of boots began their solid echo from the cave. Both brothers eyes turned towards the entrance as the huntsman quickly vacated from his spot and joined the royals from where they stood.

 

“See what I told you?” He couldn’t help but remind them.

 

“Point taken, Pedar.” Thomas growled as the echoes revealed their forms in ten men and an elderly woman, her crisp blue naval uniform decorated with heavy medallions that clinked softly in the vast cave.

 

“Hello, Thomas. Quite a pleasure to see you again.” Her greeting had a sneer in it that didn’t make itself known on her wrinkled face.

 

“I certainly wish I could say the same, duchess.” The king narrowed his gaze threateningly at her.

 

“I must agree.” She admitted. “I’d hoped we’d be meeting under less violent circumstances.”

 

“Bullshit.” Thomas called her bluff in a surprising manner that made everyone in the caves vicinity stare wide-eyed at the normally placid royal, his attitude claimed to be stiller than a schooner at sea in the fjord. “You wanted to weaken The Southern Isles and take it by force; very violent force.” His accusation rang in Hans’ ears.

 

“Violent force?” The duchess seemed floored. “Now why would I used violence when a trade agreement could just as easily be reached?”

 

Thomas surfaced a defiant chuckle. “And I suppose that trade agreement calls for my head?”

 

“As a matter of fact, it does!” The elderly woman admitted with devious jubilance. “But I won’t be killing you myself. That job falls to whoever here can get me that urn first.” She snapped a her gloved fingers. “Boys,” Her nasally voice commanded.

 

With the order to attack, everyone in the room sprung into tumultuous action, five of the men immediately removing their swords from scabbards and running for the prince who quickly separated himself from the huntsman and his brother. One arm comfortably wrapped around the silver urn, his free hand blasted fire after fire as each of the men. The third degree burns made two clatter to the ground as they couldn’t dodge quick enough. Tired of simply letting them move, the prince sent a glare of burning passion and hatred as the molten basalt and obsidian flew from his fingertips, quickly pushing the remainder of the men back to to the wall of the cave, a step of his boot forcing the spikes into their clothes until they were levitating off the floor.

 

The king and the huntsman stood back to back, their few skills with the weapon of choice: a sword, proving to be at least somewhat useful in fending off three of the men who charged. Their stances, blows, and blocks were evenly matched until one either finally lost his footing and was knocked away to lick his wounds, or was cut with the sword to the point of surrender. Finally, Pedar managed to swing the wrong direction, and engaged the final of the lady’s soldiers away from the king. Hans, being focused on holding the remainder of the goons captive, didn’t even notice what the duchess had done until he heard the distant cough of his brother and the elder clearing her throat in expectation.

 

Her height matched the kings in the tall boots she wore, the sharp edge of her sword was pressed against the back of the king's neck, leaving the killing blow yet to be achieved. “You’ve proven to be quite the match, Prince Hans. Katharine was right to want you dead.”

 

Despite her no longer holding any threat, the prince still flinched at the mention of his homicidal sister-in-law. “Let him go.” He ordered as he poised a hand.

 

Instantly, Thomas clenched his teeth as the duchess clicked her tongue scornfully at him. “Sure would be a shame, dear. You’ve already caused the death of one king. Why make it two for two?”

 

“Hans, that wasn’t your fault,” Thomas only just managed to get out before grunting in pain, the lady with the weapon clearly not impressed with him attempting to disprove her logic.

 

“Hand over the urn, little prince. Wouldn’t want this kingdom to be left without a ruler, however docile he might be.” The beastly lady scorned with so much sap she was worthy of a pancake.

 

“Docile my ass.” The huntsman growled as he held the last guard in stalemate.

 

The duchess seemed to ignore the other man's jab and his stance with her final guard. “It’s a simple trade, Hans. Really, you should take it while you’ve got the opportunity. A prince for a king… which one is it going to be?”

 

Hans stared on, every muscle within his body frozen like the thickest layer of ice in a mid-December pond. He couldn’t move anything, even his lips to release a much needed retort or response.

 

“After all, I am old. This sword could slip.” She twisted the blade through the collar of his brothers thick leather vest, the peasants garb proving to be more more fragile than they’d assumed upon getting them.

 

“Stop!” Hans snapped awake from his trance, his grip around the urn weakening. “You can have the urn, just let these two go.”

 

“Interesting.” The duchess smiled slyly. “The peasant wasn’t part of the deal, but I’ll allow it. More witnesses means it will be all the easier to do this jewel of a kingdom in, and claim it as the pride of Weselton.”

 

“Weasletown,” The Pedar reminded everyone of the fateful nickname. The duchess glowered at him with a harsh reminder to the guard to do his job. Pedar was placed between the blade and the beefy hands of the guard within five seconds.

 

Hans’ eyes grew steely. “The urn for _their_ lives. That’s my final offer.”

 

Thomas stared at him brother in awe, terror surfacing in his deep eyes. “Hans, no.” His voice was hushed.

 

“I’m sorry Thomas. I can’t let her kill you.” He held out the urn.

 

“But Hans, if she gets that urn and captures you, we’re all screwed.” Thomas seemed to show a hint of fear behind his wall of authority.

 

“No, no we’re not.” Hans shook his head in denial. “We’d be screwed if you died. I’m not cut out to rule a kingdom and I never was nor will I ever be. Nobody anticipated it would be between sixth and thirteenth, but that’s how it worked out. You have to rule this kingdom and defend it with your life, even if I’m not there.”

 

“But her army is too powerful! I can’t defeat them without any help!” He now genuinely seemed panicked. Hans remained calm, although this was obviously getting to him.

 

“Yes, you can.” He reassured. “I said before you didn’t know best.”

 

“And you were right.” He shot back.

 

“I wasn’t finished,” He snapped. “I said you didn’t know what was best for _me_. But you do know what it takes to run a kingdom, and you have more than what it takes. You are the smartest of all of us, you put the kingdom before yourself. You have every quality that could make you a great king, but you have to open your eyes and think for a second. Because if you don’t, you will lose everything. You have to stop thinking about the end and start thinking about your chances. Stop thinking about the enemy and start thinking about yourself and what you’re capable of!” The king fell silent for a moment, his eyes drifting to the floor. His pupils shown a chink in his armor, a crack in his resolve. Hans sighed. “I didn’t trust that you knew the right choice. I was wrong. I should’ve destroyed this thing when I had the chance. But now is not the time to give in. Now is the time when you have to decide what your next move is.” One of the guards came up and Hans handed him the urn. “Because even without me, you can’t just lose hope.”

 

He shook his head. “Hans, I can’t lose you.”

 

“You won’t.” He replied with feeling. “You need to find Kristoff, call on our brothers, save the Southern Isles. And when you do, I’ll be free.”

 

It was painfully simple to the ear but oh-so complicated when put to reality. The king sighed in defeat as the duchess lowered her sword and one of her men, now bearing a wide gash across his shoulder took the king and held his arms behind his back. Maroon blood dribbled onto his shoulder from the soldier's wound as the other man strolled up and presented the urn to the duchess. She grinned slyly and seemed to be observing her alien-like appearance (not that there was much difference, of course) in the urns body. The runes inscribed on the urn seemed to have vanished upon Hans losing contact.

 

“We’ve done it, men.” Her chuckled with a cold smile at the young prince. “We’ve won, and you,” Her words gained a tipped point that dug like poisonous barbs into his skin. “have lost.”

 

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” Hans glared at her.

 

“Oh, but it’s just so much more fun this way. The only thing better than weakening the enemy is knowing you’ll destroy them.” Her face became confident, cold, like a dark knight poised at a jousting match. “And we’ll show you, that I’m not to be underestimated.”

 

Hans remained silent, his eyes steely, yet vacant. He couldn’t say anything to her, not now when he was literally waiting to be shelled away in a magical urn for who knew how long. Despite his confident speech to his elder sibling, he still had a hint of doubt that grew with each passing moment that there was a growing chance that he may never get out of that urn. That the Southern Isles would fall, and he’d lose everything until someone was careless or devious enough to drop the urn and free him only to prolong his suffering. The physics of magic were unknown to him, and the last thing he wanted to the expose himself to it willingly. But he had no other choice. It was either his brother or him, and Hans knew he couldn’t win a war, even with his experience. He couldn’t be king. Not with the power he held already. It would be too much.

 

“You don’t belong in this world, a demon like you. You belong nowhere.” Her confident jabs stuck to his skin and tore at his flesh, the accusations ringing in his ears. “Prince Hans. How do I even begin to describe you?”

 

“Pyro,” One of the guards answered to which the other men quickly joined in.

 

“Hellhound,” The word twisted his stomach as the prince bit his lip. His cold eyes becoming damp with steaming tears.

 

“Faggot,” The jeer made him scoff in weak denial. A lump was welling in his throat.

 

“ _Malicious_ ,” He focused his gaze on the duchess as she chuckled darkly and removed the lid to the urn.

 

“ _Monster._ ” A tear trailed his burning cheek before sizzling and dissipating off into the dry air of the cave. The insults made him weak, weary, knowing them all to be wrong inside. But even knowing this wasn’t enough. He couldn’t ignore them, not when he couldn’t fight back.

 

Her gloved hand tipped the contents of the urn into the light of the blazing torch, the liquified form of burgundy spilling out in a unified manner along the floor, twitching and flowing slightly as if it possessed a will of its own. The liquid rolled and steamed like a churning cauldron of lava, the distant sparkle of the stuff catching a glint in his copper brown eyes. The terror he held within reflected in the liquid. He could see his terror, his worst fears, embodied within the contents of that urn. He remained rooted where he was, unable to move his his ears pounded with blood, blocking out the insults of the Weselton soldiers. The inside of his cheek bled as he bit into it, his eyes unable to break from the encroaching liquid as it shifted towards him.

 

“The people of the Southern Isles will cheer for me when I kill your brother.” She smiled knowingly at the prince who refused still to open his eyes. “They will finally have a ruler who is correct and quite thorough in her pursuits. A ruler who wouldn’t let her only heir marry the same sex, continue the line. Not burn the palace to the ground, or commit heinous acts that are forbidden in every sense. Because I,” She gestured to herself. “am not a monster, like you.”      

 

Hans’ eyes shot open and a low growl bubbled from his throat, his eyes burning holes in the duchesses navy blue uniform. If looks could kill she would be dead on the ground before her. But as it was she didn’t seem affected in the slightest. After all, his defeat was imminent, the magic of the urn building in a wave-like motion as it began to congeal around his boots. The room grew balmy for a moment as the duchess waited, grinning. Hans felt the warm touch of the contents, the sensation making his skin crawl. But he was ready. Hans was ready to accept he was captured. If everyone else survived, what did he matter?

 

His eyes finally closed, unable to look at the magic any longer. It crawled up his shins, encroaching his feet before suddenly stopping. The liquid melted free from his legs, ankles, and boots. Hans opened his eyes, a look of shock and confusion surfacing on only only his face, but everyone else’s save for the duchess, whose face was now contorted with lips puckered in silent disapproval at the urns sudden refusal to capture the threat before her. But every soul watched as the burgundy liquid continued to move until it was situated directly to the thirteenth prince’s right, where it began to froth once more. It congealed and began to shape into the crouched form of a figure. It rose to its full height, which was an inch taller than the prince himself as everyone quickly realized what this reaction of the liquid meant. The urn wasn’t going to capture Hans.

 

First, it had to be empty.

 

Silent awe prevailed as a blast of invisible heat exploded around the room, making the duchess cover her spectacled eyes with bony fingers and caused one or two of the soldiers to jump at its touch. The huntsman and the king had only experienced that form of unnatural warmth from the youngest prince before. Their eyes instinctively left the figure for Hans as the prince himself took a step back.

 

The liquid, now in the definite shape of a man, solidified as the colors flashed out of vagueness. His pale skin contrasted sharply to the crisp, rubied jacket and coal black breeches. His hair was an auburn only a shade darker than that of Hans himself, the result being more of a cherrywood brown. His eyes were flecked with bits of amber and gold beneath the darkness of his pupils, akin to stars on a moonless night. He had a full bread that was finely trimmed, and his cheeks blushed an unearthly glow for a moment.

 

A gasp overtook him as if he’d been holding a breath for centuries, and he rolled his shoulders and neck. His eyes sparked with recognition as he looked at the duchess, who had gone impossibly pale at the sight of a man like Hans appearing from the weapon she’d planned to use. A small sigh overtook him, and it was barely audible.

 

“You’re telling me nobody thought to check if that thing was empty?” Pedar broke the silence by pointing out the obvious. The man ignored his comment, and continued to burn holes in the lady holding his former prison.

 

“Valentina.” He narrowed his gaze at the elder, who let out a tiny squeak of terror as the man had apparently identified her. “It certainly has been some time. Age has not been all that merciful.” His tone was cold, insulting, as if he longed to do her harm.

 

The duchess still stood petrified, his rouge giving her deathly hallow cheeks a red tint that somewhat suggested she possessed hives. “Who are you?” It came out meek and trembling like a malnourished orphan.

 

“Don’t insult me.” He snapped in a tone that made the woman shrivel in terror. “You have a lot to compensate for.”

 

“Compensate?” She hiccuped as the men within the room looked in awe at the one sided hatred this man held for the duchess. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what you-”

 

“Perhaps this will serve as an example.” The powerful man cut her off and raised a hand, slashing it through the air in a graceful motion.

 

A massive feeling of hellish warmth blossomed in the cave as whirling scarlet flames raced around the pompous woman in glowing tendrils similar to that of a mythical giant squid. The blast drowned out her choked scream as the glow embedded itself in her chest. Webs of light appeared beneath the paleness of her wrinkled skin as if each individual cell were cracking and falling to the floor like the molted skin of some elderly reptile. Her eyes flashed in the flames and as quickly as the blast came, it subsided, and the woman stared in absolute horror at the gaping injury to her shrunken bosom. The deafening echo of the silver urn hitting the floor made nearly everyone start. The light seemed to be held within the cracked skin like a piece of the sun. It protruded slightly and the world seemed to go still as everyone's eyes darted between the woman and the man. His next words echoed in the cave like cannonfire.

 

“Spread.”

 

In seconds the light extinguished completely as another terrified gasp and shriek overtook the white haired monster. Slick black glass began to obey its master's commands as it spread along the cracks in her chest and the lines of scarlet veins that boiled in the overwhelming heat. Her face was frozen like a victim of Medusa, her mouth agape in a haunting image as the glass climbed across her rouge spattered cheeks and silenced her. Her grey eyes were positively steely in the light of the caves torch, and glinted one more time before dissipating. Every detail was so life-like, and Hans fought to control his own powers in spite of his shock. It was painful, it was real. It was everything Kristoff could’ve been, but thankfully wasn’t.

 

His head craned menacingly as he smiled wantonly at the other men, as if easily threatening the same to them. With Hans’ spikes receded, the once loyal soldiers took less than five seconds to disappear, their duchess remaining a still statue of glass that reflected in the flickering light of the torch holster. The obsidian eyes were forever frozen in fear.

 

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, a spot of blood appearing on his gloves from where the sword had broken the skin. Pedar stared in complete disbelief as he moved from his spot, massaging the spot where the blade was once pressed and poised to kill. Hans gaped. “You,” He began as the lump in his throat quickly receded. He turned to face the man who’d just saved their lives. “You saved me. All of us,”

 

The man cocked his head for a second as if forgetting Hans and the others were still there before his eyes glinted in response. “I had to.” His voice was a bit softer than the commanding voice he’d held moments before. “No one deserves to be done in by the duchess again. No one like us deserves to be trapped in that prison.” He indicated the urn with a sense of anxiety, as if he still feared the shackles that had bound him. “Especially someone as special as you.”

 

“You said you knew her?” Hans asked without breath.

 

“Once. She was only a part of how I came to be there, though. That is honestly something I’d rather not delve into.” His gaze retreated from the statuette of the once mighty lady.

 

“You don’t have to.” The prince answered quickly. “We all have our reasons.” He sighed.

 

“I suppose we do.” The man agreed. He studied the man before him for a moment as his eyes drifted round the room to each unfamiliar face. They stopped dead at the king as they widened in surprise. “Thomas,” He said the name as if only just remembering it.

 

The king stared blankly as he took a step forward to see the man better. Confusion was welling within his pupils. “I’m sorry,” He shook his head. “have we met?”

 

Silence passed as the man seemed to process what the king had said. There was a distant melancholy behind his silence that seemed to grow as his eyes fell to the ground and he shook his head slightly. “No,” He sighed with a solemn feeling. “Your reputation precedes you.”

 

Another stretch of silence passed through the cave as each person seemed to wait for the other to say something. Finally the prince broke the strange silence as he turned to the man who had strolled over to the duchess and taken hold of the urn from her grasp, his eyes narrowing in the process of studying the thing that had kept him trapped.

 

Hans was a little apprehensive to test his luck with the man and from where he stood it was obvious Thomas felt something was amiss. His eyes darted between his brother and the man holding the urn. His hand gripped around his sword holster, but he didn’t move any further after Hans flashed him a look of warning.

 

“I must admit, she’s much more tolerable like this.” The man smile slightly at the petrified statue of the duchess, the grayish amount of wrinkles on her face forever frozen.

 

“I agree.” Hans nodded. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long were you trapped in there?”

 

The man laughed weakly. “I don’t really know. I hope it hasn’t been too long, though. I’d hope that this is still the Southern Isles. I’m glad to see the monarchy hasn’t changed very much.”

 

The prince grinned appreciatively at him. “I’m happy to say that it is, and thanks to you, it will be for a long time.”

 

The man rolled his eyes slightly as he shifted the urn within his hands, his gaze reaching the prince. “Hopefully I can still be helpful, maybe offer you some advice on your technique. I’ve never seen someone with powers-”

 

“Like ours, I know.” Hans finished for him. “And I’d love the practice. You obviously seem to know more about what you’re doing, I mean…” He gestured to the duchess.

 

“That?” The man chuckled as if the feat were childishly simple. “That’s only the beginning. It took me years to learn what I could do.” He saw the huntsman take a step towards the pair and held up his hand. The huntsman froze like a deer, working his jaw quietly. “Who’s this?”

 

The question was directed at Hans and it was obvious the man was distrustful as he poised his hand in threat. “No.” Hans stopped him. “You don’t have to do that. His name’s Pedar. He was our guide here, and a friend.”

  
The man’s hand recoiled, and the distant shimmer in his eyes returned. “Good.” He said simply while blatantly ignoring the huntsman. “I’d hate to make that mistake.”     

 

“Guys,” Pedar took another tentative step forward, sword lowering back into its scabbard. “I hate to be the one to break up this whole moment, but could we head back home now? I’d like to get back to Elsa before she gets one of her mood swings again.”

 

Hans looked to his brother and the king nodded. “I suppose we may as well. We’ve stopped the duchess, and I see no reason to stay here any longer unless Hans is still feeling sentimental.”

 

The prince snorted. “Hardly. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough, and besides,” He turned to the man. “I doubt you want to spend any more time in this cave.” He shook his head. “Then it’s settled. Back to the palace we go.”

 

* * *

 

Dry leaves of brown and orange crunched beneath their feet as Hook and Hans hiked deeper into the wooded area of Storybrooke, the tiny burgundy flame straying from any sort of wood or foliage in its pursuit to reach its source. A light breeze filtered through the thin trunks and spindly branches as the pair became silent, the royal’s eyes trained on the flame that would lead him to possibly the biggest mystery he’d ever faced. Suddenly, the pirate ceased his movement and placed a hand in front of Hans.

 

“What are you doing?” The prince questioned, not taking his eyes from the flame. There was the echo of hook to wood as the pirate carved the thin skin of bark from a nearby tree in an ‘X’ motion.  

 

“Marking the trail.” Hook answered. “Although I’m more accustomed to avoiding a wildfire than following it.”

 

The prince rolled his eyes slightly. “It hasn’t hit anything yet. As far as I know it’s as if it’s trying not to.”

 

“Regardless,” Hook shot back. “I’d be much happier if that didn’t happen.”

 

“Fire is only dangerous when it can’t be controlled.” Hans shrugged.

 

“And I forgot, you seemed to be under _excellent_ control the night before.”

 

The prince chuckled uneasily. “I wasn’t talking about me; I meant in general. Besides, it’s magic.”

 

“I try to outrun that too, given the chance.” The pirate replied nonchalantly. This brought out a slightly more amused laugh from the pyro. “What’s so funny?”

 

The tiniest bit of a smile curved on his lips. “Well Emma obviously has magic, and you obviously don’t want to outrun her. I find a bit of irony to that.”

 

Hook shook his head as they crested a small hill. “More like the other way around.”

 

“Maybe she feels the same way about pirates as you do about magic.” It wasn’t a guess or an accusation and Hook found it rather annoying.

 

“I’ve been trying to change.” He shrugged. “Besides, being a pirate isn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially if you’re dealing with a charming one like meself.” He flashed his hook in a way that provided a greedy glint to his eye.

 

Hans smiled again. “I think you’re self appreciation is keeping you from seeing the simple truth: this isn’t about you, it’s about her.”

 

Hook raised a bushy brow. “Is that right? A whole day and you suddenly know Emma so well?”

 

The prince shook his head. “I’m no expert on social skills, and to be frank neither is Kristoff. I don’t believe that there really is a way to know someone after one night. Relationships, be it friendships or romantic, don’t revolve around time. They revolve around common ground.”

 

“And let me guess, you think it has to do with Emma and the fact that you both have magic?”

 

“That’s the jist of it, yes.” Hans nodded slightly.

 

“Well I’m not magic, and to my assumption neither is Kristoff. You two are doing well, I’m sure.” Hook guessed as Hans huffed a small sigh.

 

“Well, we’re obviously not the same, but I know we both trust each other with practically everything. Sounds to me like Emma doesn’t trust you all the time, and I know what that’s like.” He lamented with a hint of sadness to his voice.

 

Hook wrinkled his nose slightly. “How so?”

 

“Well when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, as a prince or a savior,” Hans pushed a small branch from ahead of them, Emma’s gloves back on for the time being as Hook had suggested. “it’s hard to trust anyone who can’t understand you, or what you have. My powers made me fear trusting not just Kristoff, but my family too. Being alone in the world makes you afraid to let people in.” His eyes shined with a thinly veiled layer of tears. “Even if they think they know best.”

 

In the clouded light of the afternoon sky, the fire began to glow even brighter with each foot it crossed, coming ever closer to its source as the pair continued on in silence. With a sharp twist to the right, the curling flames dimmed for a moment before releasing their remains in a gray, powdery ash and black soot. Hook and Hans both focused on the grey and white specks as they quickly became harder to see, but stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing that the ash and flames stopped going forward and settled on a decent sized rock. The air suddenly grew balmy and warm as if they were greeted by a roaring hearth. However, it was obvious that this wasn’t the case. They’d found what they were looking for.

 

“I think we’re on the right track, pyro.” Hook remarked softly as Hans shot him a warning glare. “Sorry mate, force of habit.”

 

“Agreed.” He said through slightly gritted teeth, his eyes trailing up to the sight before them. In a small section of cracked and dried earth there stood another rock, and a shimmering glass model of what looked like a miniature version of his palace in the mountains, volcanic glass stacking high in a foundation and roofs that swept across what could’ve been vast distances of air.

 

“What is that?” Hook looked at the object set on stone with confusion.

 

“A model.” Hans confirmed as he took a step closer. “It’s… almost exactly like something I made back in the Southern Isles. It’s almost as if-”

 

He was interrupted by Hook throwing his good hand in front of him and tugging the prince to the ground. Hans scowled at him until he realized why. Ducking behind the momentary safety of a log, they watched in fascination as a man stepped out from behind a tree, and towards the glass replica.

 

“I think we’ve found our culprit.” Hook nodded as they looked looked the man over.

 

His dark auburn hair, pale skin, and ruby red jacket were telling, but the true indication aside from this and the alibi was when he suddenly lifted his ungloved hands from where they had resided at his waist, and held them over the glass palace. Smoke wisps curled from his fingertips as the palace suddenly began to glow a scarlet light from within.      

 

Hook immediately pulled a device from his pocket and it glowed with electric light. Hans paused from where he was silently peering over the log and raised an eyebrow at the device. “What is that?” He wrinkled his nose.

 

“It’s a device for talking… texting, whatever she called it,” He groaned. “I don’t bloody know, I press the ‘Emma’ button and she answers usually.” His thumb smashed the call button and he turned his head around as a slight buzzing sound came from his phone. After about five seconds, a small curse was uttered, along with a grumble about never answering the bloody thing. “Emma,” He began to speak in a hushed tone. “We found the person who cursed Marian. Get to the west edge of the woods right away.” With that, he hung up and Hans rolled his eyes.

 

“You know, I think I’m beginning to see why she doesn’t trust you.”

 

“Well that doesn’t matter. What matters is, we’ve found the bloke responsible and you won’t have to go back to that jail cell. Don’t make me change my mind about this and place the blame back on you.” Hook growled the last part.

 

“I understand.” The prince nodded. After a moment, he began to lift himself up past the log until Hooks hand dug into his waistcoat and pulled him back down to earth.

 

“What are you doing?!” Hook snapped quietly.

 

“Sorry,” Hans admitted quickly. “I’ve never seen someone with powers like mine before.” A moment passed as he observed the still man. “He doesn’t look evil.”

 

“Yes, well looks can be deceiving. _Very_ deceiving. I have no desire to be turned into ashes today, so let’s just stay out of sight, see what we can see.” Hook replied. “After all, when we first found you, you were certainly a royal pain.”

 

A punch to the shoulder was deserved as the prince and Hook waited in silence for reinforcements to arrive.

 

* * *

 

The trek back to the palace with Olaf and the horses in tow was a painfully quiet one, the only sound to be heard aside from the wind rustling the trees and distant pounding of waves the clap and crunch of earth beneath the hooves of the beasts. Hans hadn’t understood the lack of verbal communication, and something told him he would be hearing much of it upon their return. Something about his brother seemed very off, and the prince felt a sense of curiosity as to why. The man that they had found was deathly silent, his eyes glazed over thickly with a look that suggested a catatonic state brought on by the overwhelming information and a distant glimmer of fear for the contents of the days to come. Pedar rode Olaf, his green eyes trained to the path ahead that would lead them back to the main island of the Southern Isles capital and palace.

 

Upon arriving back at the palace, the huntsman had disembarked to find his wife, leaving the royal brothers and the powerful man alone. They had only gotten to the front doors of the entry hall when Thomas requested Hans see him in his study. The temperature seemed to rise a bit as a cold sweat worked its way along his shoulders and arms. The king requesting to see him in his study often meant there was either a serious matter to discuss, a bad matter, or in what felt like the majority of cases, both. The door had been shut quietly as the man waited curtly outside with his eyes darting from painting to painting, the silver urn in hand. Thomas had taken a deep breath before rounding on his younger sibling.

 

“Hans,” He shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

 

“What do you mean?” The prince crossed his arms.

 

“How could you just invite some random person into the castle?” The king threw a hand at the door that led to the hall.

 

Hans matched the glare. “It’s not like he has anywhere else to go. Aside from that he saved our asses back there, and I for one think that’s worth something!”

 

“You don’t think I do too?”

 

“Apparently not.” He shot back.

 

“Well I do.” He replied. “But the problem I forsee is that this man is a complete and total stranger. We know nothing about him aside from the fact that he could turn us all to statues while we sleep.”

 

Hans held back a facepalm. “Are you really that paranoid, brother?”

 

“Excuse me? I have every right to be cautious, Hans. You saw what he did to the duchess, how powerful he is; not to mention he somehow _knew my name._ ”

 

“Doesn’t everybody? You’re the king, I’m pretty sure it’s a simple fact people know your name.” He waved off the suspicion.

 

“Of course people know my name, but I don’t know… something about him saying it felt… familiar.” He admitted, the gleam of anger dulling to a low shimmer like the reflective waves of a pond disrupted by a single stone.

 

“Familiar?” Hans narrowed his eyes.

 

“I don’t know, Hans. I don’t know why, but something feels wrong about all of this.” He balanced his elbow on his hand massaged his eyelids, a habit of the stressed.

 

Hans took a step closer. “Thomas, I know you’re concerned, I get that. But try to understand. I’ve spent my entire life wondering what there was to my powers, if there were people out there like me. This is the greatest opportunity I could’ve ever asked for. And I know this sounds stupid coming from me; but I trust him.”

 

“How can you trust him, Hans? You’ve only known him for a few hours.” Thomas protested through clenched teeth.

 

A pang of idiocy passed through the prince as his memory flashed to the night of Erik’s coronation, his friend standing before him with a lovely princess draped across his arm with the pair giggling madly. He’d been the only person in that conversation with any common sense, it had seemed. How stupid was he to literally be falling for the same thing? Anna hadn’t turned out to be evil; but there was nothing that said this man wasn’t.

 

“I guess I can’t.” He admitted. “I don’t know him well.” A long stretch of silence passed between the brothers until Hans broke it again. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

 

The king lifted his hand from his face. “What?”

 

“I can get to know him, show him around, learn what I can.” The prince answered. “I can see whether or not he really is trustworthy.”

 

Another period of silence came and went as the king stared at his younger brother, contemplating his next actions as carefully as he could. Finally, after a moment, he nodded in agreement. Hans was about to turn and leave, his hand reaching for the door.

 

“Hans,” Thomas stopped him.

 

“Yes?” The prince didn’t turn around.

 

“Try not to screw this up.” And with that, the prince left the study and his brother alone.

 

* * *

 

 

The next ten minutes were a painful sentence of boredom, the occasional bird breaking the silence and tranquility of the woods as none of the three men made any form of sound. The strange man they were spying upon seemed to stare into the model, not moving anything and becoming as still as a statue, his pale hands glowing with the occasional snapping of a twig or crunching of a leaf. Hook’s eyes trailed around the woods as if he wasn’t accustomed to stake-outs, although the prince didn’t expect him to be. The prince himself was never one to enjoy waiting, but was patient given a reason to be. If that reason was innocence and then answers, he was hardly going to jeopardize a chance at either of those things. It was bad enough to be feared now. All he wanted to find his fiance, and get them back home before anything else could happen to separate them further. Finally, after another few minutes of bored silence, Hook checked his device and sighed.

 

“Alright pyro, we’ve waited long enough.” He began to stand up and turn away, and the prince followed him, the stranger's back turned away from the other two men. “We need to find Emma and-”

 

Hook was suddenly cut off by a cracking sound, stopping dead in his tracks as the both of them looked down to the pirates boots. Hans stared in horror as a thick layer of shimmering, black obsidian climbed up both of his companions boots, trapping him where he stood as a voice rang out to their left.

 

“I’m very sorry.” The voice began without even a hint of warmth or remorse to his tone. Hook and Hans whirled around to see the man they’d been spying on was standing before them, his right hand lifted and poised to use a dangerous force of magic. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”

 

Hans’ eyes narrowed at the threat, his hands warming in the faux leather of the sheriff’s gloves as the pirate almost immediately went to work slamming his hooked hand into the glass in a hopeless and earsplitting attempt to break himself free. The man raised an eyebrow and in a bright flash that encompassed his outstretched hand, the hooks point was dulled and silent as the silver began to droop from his heat. The woods were silent for only a second more before Hans delivered his own threat.

 

“Let go of him now, before I do something I regret.” He growled as the leather began to dribble and melt with a sickly scent of burning vinyl entering his nose.

 

The man looked, if anything, amused. The tiniest of a smile crossed his face, “You think I can’t see the gloves, son?”

 

“They can be _easily_ compromised.” Hans’ eyes flashed.

 

“Oh, I know they can.” He chuckled lightly. “But we both know you won’t do anything more. You’re powers are nowhere near their full potential, whereas mine,” His grin grew a bit wider. “are.”

 

“I’m not afraid of you.” The prince seethed.

 

“Of course you’re not.” He didn’t sound convinced although something within his tone suggested a truthful reply. “But your friend over there, I know he fears me as well as you.” A growl surfaced from Hook as his eyes grew murderously cold.

 

“I’m not afraid of you, pyro.” He answered as he struggled to free his legs by moving them, the glass around his feet not budging.

 

“Oh, but you should be.” The strange man answered. “No matter, though. You will soon enough.”

 

“I somehow doubt that.” Hook grunted as he tried once more to pull himself free from the black barrier on his legs.   

 

“You know, I certainly don’t recall asking for a reply, pirate. Besides, as much as I would love to render you a figurine, you’re not who I’m here to talk to.” He scowled at the pirate, his eyes smouldering like a duo of lit coals.

 

Hans scowled. “I’m not interested in talking.”

 

He seemed slightly offended, although his demeanor was anything but. “And here I thought you were curious about people who are like you, like _us_. But I guess I can accept that. You see, we have a lot of catching up to do, Hans.”

 

“Catching up?” Hook started. “Wait, you know-”

 

He was silenced by a mute gesture of the man's hand, his jaw frozen where it was. The man glared in Hans’ general direction, not facing the pirate for his next words.

 

“It is extremely rude to interrupt a conversation, _Captain Hook._ And given I am the one holding you still, you’d do well to remember your manners. Don’t force me to take back my generous offer of sparing you, because as you should know, people like us don’t hesitate to use their powers.” A deviously proud grin surfaced on his lips as his eyes bored into the prince.

 

“I’ve never seen him before, Hook, I swear. I would remember someone like me, like us.” He corrected his mistake as the man began to stroll around him in a circle as a shark did so around its prey.

 

“That is exactly the problem. You’ve simply forgotten. The magic of the rock trolls is an immensely powerful force.” His hands were folded behind his back, giving him a taller appearance than seen at first glance.

 

Hans raised an eyebrow. “What do the rock trolls have to do with any of this?”

 

“Well you know what they do,” The man replied. “You’ve been harbouring their little daughter for the past few years. As well as magic of the earth, they hold power over the minds of humans, magical and non magical.”

 

“Memories, yes.” Hans nodded. “I know.”

 

“And apparently they did quite a number on you, I’m afraid.” The man replied grimly.

 

“Why?”

 

It was the man’s turn to narrow his eyes at Hans. A light warmth burned in his brown eyes, flecks of gold sparkling like scattered embers. “For the same reason they did it to your friend, Kristoff. Some memories are too painful to live with.”

 

At this Hans seemed to flare like a fan to a flame, the mention of the ice cutter igniting a firestorm of questions and possible answers from this one person. “You know Kristoff,” His tone was accusatory. “What happened to him?!” He snapped as a puff of white ash fluttered to the leafy forest floor.

 

“The same thing that happens to any normal person, Hans. No matter who they are or what they mean to people like us, eventually they grow to fear what we can do.” Hans began to glare at him coldly, anger bubbling beneath the surface of his cheeks. “You were curious to how you ended up in that urn?”

 

WIthout even realizing it he was nodding. The answer wasn’t one he wanted to hear.

 

“It was him.” He answered simply. “Kristoff trapped you in there.”

 

The princes response was swift and blunt. “You’re lying.”

 

“Am I?” He countered. “Look at the people in this town, they’re ready to burn you at the stake.”

 

Hans struggled to keep his temper in the face of these truthful words. “Kristoff would never do anything to hurt me; that’s not like him.”

 

“It’s like all of them, son.” He replied coldly. “Kristoff may mean something to you, but in the end he and everyone else can and has turned on you, because they fear people like us.”

 

“Because of what you did,” Hans snarled. “you cursed one of them!”

 

His face softened to a sympathetic pout that looked so sincere that the prince felt a slight pang of remorse for his tone but quickly regretted. “You mean that maiden, Marian? Well that was an accident, just like your little ash golem.”

 

“That was self defense. He doesn’t attack unless provoked.” He shot back. “And Marian was no accident. You wanted these people to think it was me; to blame me. You wanted me to find that glass slide and follow it to you. Why?”

 

The man seemed to deflate a bit, his deep brown eyes darkening with soulless intent. “I was only trying to teach you a lesson.” He smiled knowingly for a moment before walking towards the still mute Hook. “Eventually, everyone grows to fear us.”

 

The pirate struggled as the man walked closer. “Even friends, even family. All they need is a reason, and when they find it,” He looked to the prince again. “then you will understand.”

 

In an instant, the man strolled to Hook and positioned his hand in a cupped motion, a burgundy flame swirling into existence that crackled in the silence of the forest as Hans instantly shot out his hands in an attempt to stop this man from doing anything more.

 

“What are you doing?!” He shouted as the glass around the pirates feet spread along the forest floor and encased the prince's feet in a layer that thickened and cooled in an instant, trapping his feet where they were.

 

“My job.” He answered over the crackling of the fire. “Because you failed to learn the first time, I’ll have to teach you a second time.”

 

“No!” The prince protested as he immediately yanked the gloves from his fingers and aimed them square at the man before him and his companion. He concentrated with all his might, but nothing happened. The man chuckled lightly.

 

“Don’t bother, Hans. Your magic is neutralized by mine. Even if you wanted to stop me, I know you won’t. When your friend here is found dying, they’ll look for a cure. And when they’re unable to find one, they’ll treat you like the monster they truly see you as, he’ll die a painless death, and you’ll see that I’m right.”

 

“Painless?” Hook raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, relatively painless.” The man delivered a dark chuckle. “We’ll certainly see. After all, you’re the one person in this town I wouldn’t mind killing after what you cost me.”

 

“Well, you’re not alone in that.” The pirate admitted.

 

“Then I’ll be happy to beat them to it.” He growled with anticipation guiding the flame back with his arm as he prepared to unleash it on his target and curse him with a power greater than most magic in the world.

 

“Stop!” Hans pleaded in desperation that fell on deaf ears, a quick breath being taken by the pirate in anticipation for the end.

 

“Hey! Gingerbread!” A voice shouted from the forest path. Everyone turned to look at the source of the terrible pun. Emma and David stood at the opening of the forest path, urgency raging within her voice like the strongest of wildfires. The man’s eyes widened slightly with pleasant surprise, but his lips remained pressed in a thin line.

 

“Emma.” He acknowledged, barely above a whisper.

 

Everyone save for Hook looked at him with slight confusion as Emma stood a little straighter, as if to make a strong impression. “Do we know each other?” She questioned.

 

“Of course not.” He replied with a confident grin. “Your reputation precedes you.” He lowered his hand and the flame disappeared for the moment. “Do you really think your magic is a match for mine?”

 

“Only one way to find out.” She answered.

 

Before he could react, she threw a powerful burst of glowing white magic towards the man, and he was knocked off his feet and to the ground with a grunt on impact with the rough forest floor. Hans pushed his magic, a dull glow filtering from his palms as the man's magic weakened. In seconds he had a flame trained on the mad man’s fallen body. With a shout, his hand rocketed forward, but the flame refused to detach. He saw his target had his hand outstretched in a curled fist, a feeling of force gravitating from it as if it was holding his magic in place. The man grinned at Hans. “I told you. You can’t hurt me, not when your magic is still no match for mine.”

 

With that, he threw a hand at the treetops as many branches of aspen and oak burst into scarlet flames. The burning branches detached and fell directly where Hook and now David still stood, the sheriff reduced to his hands and knees in an effort to free the pirate. The Savior threw her own hand out and a powerful blast of magic tore Hook and David from the opaque obsidian that held them where they were. Both men flew a full ten feet before landing a safe distance from the burning kindling, a powerful gust of wind extinguishing the flames before they caused any further damage.

 

The intersection with his magic vanished and fled like air from a ruptured balloon, and Hans quickly freed himself from the glass as it dissipated into the open air. The prince immediately looked to his side, and the man was gone, nowhere to be seen and Emma surveyed her father and boyfriend with cautious worry.

 

“Is everyone okay?” She called over the expanse of land as the three men answered with varying degrees of ‘yes.’

 

“He’s gone.” Hans answered as he refused to take his eyes off of the spot where the madman had once stood, the burgundy flame with seared in his mind. Something felt vaguely and painfully familiar about him, and he wasn’t about to wait and find out what. Emma walked up to him after a conversation with her father and Hook. Hans turned from where he stood looking at the model of the castle he’d built, the subtle changes and differences making it all the more confusing as why it was here, in the middle of the forest. Something told him the man who’d made had more of a purpose for it than leading him blindly to him for some kind of intervention.

 

“You’re not locking me up again, are you?” He asked with no form of anxiety whatsoever, as if he knew the answer and asked the question simply to get it out of the way.

 

“No.” Emma shook her head. “Gold dropped the charges earlier when we went to him. He absolved you of any wrongdoing for breaking into his shop, and said if you find the ring, it’s yours.”

 

Hans chose to avoid pointing out that the ring had been his all along, and decided to relish whatever kind of good news he could get. “How did the search go?”

 

“Well despite the fact that you found the culprit, we managed to find some things out about him, including where he lives and his occupation.” She answered. “Belle translated the fake slide into a name: Hansel. We thought that it meant you.”

 

“But my name isn’t Hansel. It’s just Hans.”

 

“Be that as it may, it’s a clue. We also found a bandit who’d broken into a bread shop, and from the looks of it, the place was fully stocked even without a working oven. It was also warm as hell in there. I think we found ourselves a trail. We’re going to find him, and we’re going to find Kristoff.” Hans looked doubtful.

 

“I just don’t believe it, what he said about Kristoff. He would never do anything like that. He couldn’t have been the reason I was shut away in that urn. He was lying about my past,” The prince sighed. “I just wish that I knew the truth.”

 

Emma’s eyes trailed to the forest floor. “I’ve learned that the past has a way of coming back. Just give it some time. We’re going to find them both, and we’re going to find answers. Besides,” She continued. “from what we’ve found and seen something’s telling me you and Kristoff are only pawns in this game. I feel like there’s something more that we can’t see yet.”

 

Hans raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

 

“I brought you to this world, Hans. I brought that urn back with us, but it was an accident. That man we found, he was already here; and here long enough to set up a business with no suspicion. I’m starting to think that it wasn’t just some curse that brought him to Storybrooke.”  

 

* * *

 

 

Befriending the stranger who’d been gifted with a power like his own was surprisingly easy, Hans had figured out within an hour of talking to him. They’d spent the hour strolling through the castle halls, boots and bare feet trailing along the lightwood parquet and crimson red carpets, asking each other all sorts of questions even when Hans knew he shouldn’t have been saying anything about himself. While his inner conscience hounded him for it, there was a sense of equality that made him want to share anything and everything with a man who seemed so much like him it was as if he’d tumbled out of a parallel universe.

 

He’d learned more about the man’s life in an hour than he thought was possible, glazing over certain subjects for both their sakes. His name was Hayden, he was forty two, he enjoyed baking and was a baker before becoming trapped. Gradually, the conversation had shifted more towards the subject of their shared powers.

 

“Have you ever brought an ash person to life?” Hans walked along two steps at a time, a giddy grin surfacing on his face. “It’s the best.”

 

The man looked surprised. “I didn’t know we could do that.” His eyes widened. “How does it work?”

 

As if on cue, the prince sneezed, and a tiny ash being popped into existence only a foot between the pair. Hayden’s eyes looked ready to pop right out of his head. The little creature waddled up to him and nuzzled into the fabric of his pants as a small pet would before running out of the room. “Extraordinary.” He replied without breath and Hans laughed.

 

“I know. You should’ve seen my face when I first created Ashley.”

 

The man looked surprised again, but didn’t question the prince’s words. “Have you ever tried building a palace before?”

 

He nodded. “It’s spectacular. You have to see it sometime!” The pair reached the doors to the small study and Hans opened them quickly as if not willing to let anything slow their walk.

 

Hayden set the urn he’d been cradling in his slender hands down on a table of drafted maps, his eyes drifting around the room with a solemn glow to them as Hans walked around towards the desk, his smile fading a bit upon seeing his companions unreadable face. The prince followed his eyes to the wall at their immediate right, the portrait of the former queen hanging in its simple wooden frame. Her features were etched with a small and simple smile that Hans had grown to appreciate despite what she’d caused him. He had never felt any true anger to his mother for her actions, because he knew she was only doing it to give him his best chance.

 

“That’s my favorite portrait of my mother.” Hans nodded to it as he joined Hayden’s side. “Despite all she did, I think it’s the only one that gets her smile just right.”

 

A moment of silence passed as the man’s eyes glittered for a moment. “I agree.” He nodded.

 

“You knew her?” The prince turned to him, noticing the hint of sadness buried beneath the deepness of his brown pupils.

 

“Yes.” He answered after a moment before smiling softly. “She’s my wife.”

 

For a moment, Hans felt a massive wave of confusion and lightheadedness rush through him that was so powerful he very nearly toppled over. His eyes flashed slightly in awe as he looked Hayden over, this piece of information seemingly revealing so much that suddenly all made sense. The features were similar. They had the same eyes, the same nose, the same jaw, the same _powers._ His jaw fell open like a broken marionette, a coiled spring of tension holding it in place.

 

“When I saw your powers, I’ll admit I was suspicious,” He continued, a hint of laughter entering his voice. “but when I saw Thomas, and I found out you were a prince… I knew.” Another pause of silence entered as his eyes suddenly dropped to the floor, the laughter becoming slightly uneasy. “I was waiting for the right moment, I didn’t want to overwhelm you- did I?”

 

Hans felt himself spinning for a moment until he shook his head. “No, you didn’t, it’s just that mother-”

 

“Never told you… I know.” Hayden finished. “I guess she was only trying to give you your best chance.” Hans narrowed his eyes at the man. “She was sparing you a painful chapter of the past. Maren and I were happy, you were barely along. But then I was trapped in that urn, by people who fear magic. It was a long time ago; twenty one years ago.”

 

“Twenty one years ago.” Hans echoed.

 

“Half of my life, and all of yours.” Hayden finished, his eyes dulled and dim as if recalling a memory from that time caused him immense pain. “But like I said, it was a long time ago. I don’t want to dwell on the past, and I can’t wait to see my beloved again.” He smiled solemnly, his eyes glittering like two simmering coals.

 

Hans’ face became warm with angst as his jaw closed and formed into a thin line. “I’m afraid you’re too late. She’s been… lost at sea.”

 

The joy left his face instantaneously, and his pupils seemed to smoulder as his own jaw set. There was a cash of guilt beneath his skin, Hans could feel it. He knew it, and he understood it. If his father had been there all those years.

 

“You must have felt so… alone, I;” He paused. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“I wasn’t alone.” The prince answered. “I had Erik, Thomas, I had my friend Kristoff. But I lost Erik, and now Kristoff’s missing and I fear something’s happened to him too.” He felt tears behind his eyelids as Hayden suddenly straightened up, his gaze warm. A hand placed itself on the prince’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t worry, son.” The word seemed foreign, but it was comforting all the same. “We’ll find him, together. After all, that’s what family is for.”

 

* * *

 

Night fell over the darkened woods of Storybrooke, moonlight casting its white shadows over the dry treetops and scattered autumn leaves rustling on the forest floor. Eerie, warm gusts of wind pushed their way through the thick and narrow trunks to a clearing of empty land where nothing stood. Only the dry patches of earth and a figure stood before the land, their presence yet to be marked by any telling signs save for their existence. He was still, the light of the moon bathing his paled features and allowing a dark sparkle to surface in his pupils.

 

He closed his hands into fists, focusing his powers with ease and grace that he’d long ago learned to handle. His foot lifted from the ground, dry leaves wilting in the sudden expansion of heat.

 

“You know,” A voice started right as he was about to stamp his mark into the ground. “They say a man’s home is his castle, not his prison.” Hayden frowned. “Don’t be afraid dearie.” The familiar voice said as he turned to it. “It’s only me.”

 

“Hello, Dark One.” He acknowledged with absolutely no form of emotion within his tone, his eyes glimmering distantly with a memory that sat on the back burner.

 

“What a pleasant tone. I take it your plan didn’t go the way you wanted it to?” Rumpelstiltskin took a seat on a rather large stone that sat just outside of the forest's embrace. The man remained silent, his gaze focused on the dark sorcerer before him, his lips hardened into a thin line. The dark one chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

There was a pause before Hayden spoke again, his voice steely. “It will.”

 

“We shall certainly see, won’t we?” Gold replied as he slid off the rock, his polished dress shoes meeting the floor of the forest with a loud crunch. “And did Miss Swan remember you?” He took three steps closer. Hayden stood his ground as if the Dark One hadn’t moved.

 

“No.” His lips barely moved, his lucid eyes trained on the other man before him.

 

“That’s good for you, because it could happen you know. And you wouldn’t want that, now would you,” It wasn’t a question or an accusation. Regardless of those words and their meaning the result rang true. “Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

 

His response was swift. “When I want to make a deal, I’ll come to you and request it.”

 

“A moment that I eagerly await.” Hayden pressed his boot into the ground, slippery glass exploding from his heel and spreading across the empty space. A dulled glow filtrated through the clear layer as the dry leaves ignited beneath their shell. Gold remained stoic, and the pyrokinetic man clearly wasn’t happy about it.

 

“You don’t get to control me, Dark One.” He very nearly growled. “Not here.”

 

He raised an eyebrow as a crooked smile fixed itself into place. “Is that what you think I want to do? No dearie, you see…” He trailed off for a moment. “Your _uncontrolled_ anger is exactly what I want, and need.”

 

His eyes glimmered with distant rage. “Go.” He commanded, a pale finger pointed to the forest. “Leave a man to build his home in peace. If I want help, I’ll ask for it. And no amount of blackmail will make me change my mind this time.”

 

“As you wish.” Gold stepped off the glass and the man seemed to calm a bit. “You really should build quickly, dearie. It’s getting quite chilly out here.” With those words resonating in the air, the pawnbroker strolled back towards Storybrooke and left the pyromantic to his own devices, the echoing of cooling and cracking glass dissipating as he got further and further away. It seemed Hayden had taken his advice. He didn’t dare look back upon the beauty of the palace as the heat grew dimmer, giving way to numbing November cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a bit of a delay between this chapter and the next one... but don't worry. It'll be up eventually!


	4. The Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is after nearly two months! Hopefully this chapter is to everyone's liking...

The castle of the Dark One was a beautiful, massive structure of white marble nestled in a small valley and surrounded on three sides by grand mountains of equal size and majesty. Towers peaked into the blue sky and healthy evergreens crowded around the outer walls. One would expect to hear the chirping of birds or the running of caribou and deer, but the woods around the dwelling were eerily silent. Kristoff had come to expect this, although he didn’t have any reason as to why.

 

Finding the palace was an easy thing to do. Although Ruth had only provided him with a name to match the description, it seemed even the mere mention of his name was enough to insight many strange glances and mumbles of condolences and prayers. The ice cutter was unphased by the strange behavior, but as he’d said, he knew what he was getting into. Rumors and warnings weren’t about to stop him from getting what he needed to find. He tied David’s horse to a tree off the moat, and crossed the bridge to the castle. Surprisingly, the front doors weren’t locked in any manner and there were no signs of life or even some sort of guard. There were several times in the journey when Kristoff had considered turning back, and the unsettling feeling of being alone in an isolated palace with a powerful magical being was nearly enough, despite the fact that he did the exact same back home.

 

But instead, he held his breath, and continued into the main hall. It was empty as the rest of the place, and a long hall of doors stood immediately in front of him. Better judgement stopped him from opening random doors. There was no telling what could lay on the other side of any of them.

 

“Rumplestiltskin?” He called into the main hall, the echo carrying. “The door was open,”

 

A slight pause occurred before a voice answered. “End of the hall, first door on your right.”

 

Kristoff took no time in following the hall and turning at the correct opening. The room was a bright red, and felt far more elaborate and decorated than the drab gray marble of the front hall. Suits of armor flanked the door. Pale light spilled in through a few of the tall windows, thick velvet curtains having being drawn over many of them. The man was sitting in a tall throne at a table, his hands entwined and long fingers pressed to his forehead.

 

“Come on in, dearie.” He said simply, not looking up as Kristoff entered the room, walking tentatively around the chair the Dark One sat in. “Have a seat.” He waved a hand and a chair that was pushed into the grand table pulled out. Kristoff nearly jumped at it, but tried his best to calmly sit down, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the Dark One’s appearance. However, he didn’t comment on it. The last thing he needed to was to earn this man’s ire before he even pled his case.

 

“My name is Kristoff Bjorgman,” He began as honestly as he could. “I was hoping you could help me.”

 

The Dark one turned his head, his eyes opening to reveal the gleam of muddy brown not unlike that of a reptile. “I suppose you’ve heard what they’ve said about me,” Kristoff nodded. “Well then you would know names are my stake and trade. And you’re currently between names. I could say congratulations, but no relationship is written in stone.” He finished gravely. The iceman swallowed. “I know more about you than you think.” A disgusting grin appeared and the man snickered playfully.

 

“Then you know why I came to see you.” Kristoff concluded, not wanting to dwell on what this man did or did not know.

 

The sorcerer giggled with a fiendish form of glee. “You want to find out why your fiancee’s mother ventured into this strange land.”

 

“He thinks it’s because of him, but I know he’s wrong. So can you help me find out why?”

 

Rumplestiltskin grinned again. “As it happens, the Queen of the Southern Isles came to me on her journey. Her little sail to Weselton was but a charade.”

 

Kristoff frowned. “But why would she lie? What was she doing here?”

 

“Well I can’t just _tell_ you dearie.” The Dark One stood up from his chair and began to pace. “You see, aside from names I also have a business in making deals.”

 

The ice cutter had expected this and dug into his pocket, fishing out the gold he’d taken with him in case he needed it. “Fine. How much do you want?” He held up the small leather pouch.

 

Rumplestiltskin eyed the jingling pouch for only a split second before dissolving into painfully eerie cackles. “Gold is of no use to me, dearie. Whenever I need it,” He pulled a wire thin piece of gold. “I can make it as long as straw is nearby.”

 

Kristoff deflated slightly, putting the gold pouch back in his pocket. “Fine.” He answered. “If you don't take gold then I’ll do what it takes to find the truth.”

 

“Say that again.” Rumplestiltskin prompted with a very overgrown fingernail.

 

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” Kristoff repeated, standing up as if to prove his point. The Dark One cackled again as Kristoff tried to ignore the uneasy feeling the man’s laughter gave him.

 

“I do love it when they say that.” Rumplestiltskin exclaimed boisterously and waved his hand, a near microscopic vail materializing in his scaly fingers. He rounded on the mountain man. “At the foot of the dark mountains about an hours journey from here, there lives an old man. He’s a prickly sort and probably eats children for breakfast.” He extended the hand that held the vail, swishing the clear liquid around in it. “I need you to pour this in his tea.”

 

Kristoff frowned and crossed his arms. “And what will it do?”

 

“Sorry dearie.” Rumplestiltskin grinned childishly. “That’s not part of the deal.”

 

He raised an eyebrow with skepticism. “Then make it part of it. It’s not like you’ve got a contract ready.”

 

The Dark One deflated, his eyes losing the playful gleam. “If you call the shots, it’s not very much of a deal, now is it?” He then snapped his fingers and a contract appeared from thin air, and the crocodile set the binding legal document on the massive table. “Just sign on the dotted line, and you’ll find out everything you’re looking for.”

 

Kristoff bit his tongue, reading over the contract. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, nothing seemed unfair about this. The penalty for not completing the task wasn’t there, so it was easy enough to assume there wasn’t one. He wanted answers, and he would be the first to admit there was work of getting them. He knew he’d travelled this far without that many snags. There was no point to refusing and turning back to admit he’d failed Hans.

 

“Do we have a deal, dearie?” The Dark One tempted holding out a feather quill.

 

* * *

 

The connection of leather and dining room table echoed in Mary Margaret’s loft, the stacks of books being thumped to the surface by her husband David. They were green, glossy, and had the emblem of a golden tree, much like the sign Hans had unintentionally destroyed on his first evening in the strange town.

 

“Here we go.” Mary Margaret indicated the small stack of books. “The census records of the town for the first and second curse. If Kristoff was ever swept up in it or was in the Enchanted Forest, we’ll find him in here.”

 

Hans felt a bit of relief. “This is going to be a short look.” He commented on the small amount of records.

 

“This is just A through E.” Mary Margaret stated as her prince charming set down another noticeably taller stack of census records. Hans let out a low whistle of amazement.

 

“Your curse is very thorough.” He fingered the book covers through the gloves, still not willing to trust himself with paper materials; especially records that could hold the answer to where his fiance was. “Are you sure he’ll be in here?”

 

“We can only hope so.” David answered and flipped open the first page.

 

“Alright,” The sound of footsteps made themselves known. “I want honest opinions. How do I look?” Emma spread her arms out to reveal the slight curve her pale pink dress sported. Everyone took a moment to look her over. Smiles bloomed across the three faces.

 

“Wow.” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

 

“What your mother said.” David gestured to his wife breathlessly.

 

Hans nodded. “It’s wonderful, but is that just the corset? Where’s the rest of it?”

 

Emma seemed confused and gave her skirt a slight tug. “This _is_ the rest of it.”

 

Snow White cooed to little Neal as she set the fussy baby in his crib. “Your big sister is going on her first date tonight!” She feigned a high pitched voice and took something from a shelf.

 

“Alright guys,” Emma chuckled uneasily. “Let’s not oversell-” She was cut off by the flash of an instant polaroid camera that captured the rather awkward moment. Her mother quickly removed the finished photo and waved it around to dry. “I really need to get my own place.” The blonde threatened with an uncomfortable smile.

 

“You think this is bad, Emma? Try dealing with twelve older brothers.” Hans matched the uneasy laugh at the reminder of his annoying former living situation.

 

“And cut your mother some slack.” David continued. “I mean it’s not like we ever got to dress you up for a ball.” Emma walked towards them and eyed the census books with hidden desire.

 

“Are you sure you guys don’t need my help? I could always get Hook to stay and look through the records or do some Pyro hunting, no offense Hans.”

 

“None taken.” The prince shook his head. “And besides, Kristoff was more than willing to postpone our wedding for my sake. I don’t want anyone else missing out on their lives on my account. And anyway, I’ve got time to look through these records and thankfully your parents are willing to help.” He gestured to the overbearing couple.

 

There was a sudden knock at the door, and Emma went to answer it. Hook stood in the hallway, his hand behind his back. It extended, and a vibrant, red rose was pinched at the stem between finger and thumb. It took everyone a pause before realizing Hook hadn’t had those fingers the day before. It took less than two minutes before David began his ‘overprotective dad speech’ and the duo left as quickly as they could afford to. Prince Charming sighed at the closed door and turned back to his wife and the other prince.

 

“You don’t think I was too overbearing, was I?” He questioned.

 

“No,” Hans shook his head with a chuckle. “You should’ve seen Thomas after I started courting Kristoff. I guarantee it’s only time being near me gave someone chills.”

 

“Speaking of which,” Mary Margaret took the first book from the pile. “Let’s see if we can find out what happened to him.” With that, Hans took the second book in the stack and flipped open the page, scanning the sheet of thousands of names ordered alphabetically and by character.

 

* * *

 

His boots ground into the dirt and gravel road, the directions provided by Rumplestiltskin having yet to steer him in the wrong direction. The house of the old man mentioned was visible in the shade of the reaching tree limbs, patches of cool shade hiding the structure in its shadowed embrace. It had taken him less than an hour to reach the point on the map where the Dark One had stated he’d needed to go to pour a vial of mystery liquid into an elderly man’s tea. He reached the wooden porch and paused, taking a deep breath.

 

Doors on their own held painful memories, but that wasn’t what made him halt in his tracks to carry out the crocodile mans bidding. The deal had been made without knowing what was in the vial, even though Kristoff had attempted to find out through the man who sent him on the mission. That was a stupid decision on his part, Kristoff readily acknowledged that. It was rather obvious that the Dark One wouldn’t tell him the outcome when he didn’t seem fond of the man who would be ingesting it. He didn’t know what would come from him doing this, and there was something unsettling about it that dug at his insides with needle-like claws and refused to let him have his way.

 

But he took a deep breath, knowing there was no real alternative, and knocked on the door with a mittened fist. It took only a few moments for the wooden surface to shudder and swing open. A relatively old man with long, silver wire locks stood in the entrance to the cottage. His eyes shined like a starry night’s sky, and half his face was hidden by a darker beard.

 

“Can I help you?” He questioned in a deep voice. Kristoff blinked, completely forgetting his words in his quickly returning anxiety.

 

“Well,” He tried to smile. “That depends, I guess.” Realizing he wasn’t making a good first impression, he requested to come inside.

 

The old man looked the larger of the two of them up and down, a small frown evening after a moment’s observation. Kristoff wasn’t exactly sure what the old man was looking for-- a sign that he was a bandit or something, probably. He then raised his chin as if to see if the ice cutter had anyone hiding behind him, but after that, his lips curved into a warm smile.

 

“Of course.” He gave a nod. “What good timing; I’ve just put a kettle on.” He remarked with a small chuckle. “Join me for tea and biscuits?”

 

Kristoff followed the elder into the small hut, and closed the door behind them. The one room was homely and modestly decorated. A small iron kettle sat on a weakly crackling fire, and a pile of freshly chopped logs rested by the stone wall of the hearth. Some light shone through a loft above, and a table with two chairs sat immediately by the entryway. The wooden planks were dusty, and an old broom sat propped against the rungs of a ladder. Smoked meat and spices were heavy in the air and overshadowed the mustiness of the forest and the stench of smoke. True to the old man's word, a pan of puffed, buttery looking biscuits sat on a rack above the flames. Steam rose from the evenly cooked pastries and it only then occurred to Kristoff that he really wasn’t even hungry. He pulled off his mittens and stuffed them into his pockets, and the old man took the broom from it’s spot and began to dust the old wooden floor, miniscule clouds of the stuff puffing and dissipating into piles like a weary phoenix on it’s final breaths.

 

“Biscuits.” Kristoff remarked at the obvious. Honestly what had the Dark One been thinking?

 

“Yes, biscuits.” The old man repeated. “Of course, an easy thing to make at my age.”

 

“What’s in them?” The ice cutter questioned before he could stop himself and immediately wished to take it back.

 

The old man chuckled. “Well I’m not sure what you were expecting. They’re just made with flour.” He seemed somewhat prideful that his cooking was completely ordinary. “So what is a fine young man like you doing in the woods all alone? I don’t recall ever seeing you around here before.” He went back to sweeping the floor as Kristoff eyed the kettle and his hand closed around the vail in his pocket. “Are you from someplace else?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Kristoff answered. “The Southern Isles. I’ve been harvesting ice for a few months, it being late summer and all.”

 

“Well that certainly explains your tastes in bread. Flour here is certainly a more common commodity.” The elderly man replied nonchalantly.

 

Kristoff found himself laughing at the man's odd sense of humor. “Yes, well…” He paused. “I was harvesting ice with my partners, and we managed to get separated, sled and all. I’ve been looking for a way back towards town, but I guess I’ve gone in the opposite direction.”

 

“I see.” The old man nodded, holding his broom lightly in clasped hands before sighing. “Well I’ve got plenty of maps with me you’re welcome to take and look at. In the meantime, you can stay as long as you wish. And I assure you, the tea is good, the biscuits are plentiful,” He paused and glanced at the blonde with a small smirk. “And they’re made with real children.”

 

“What?” Kristoff whirled around, unsure if the man was serious or just playing him for laughs.

 

“Oh I’m only kidding.” He waved off the iceman’s surprise. “I suppose my humor is a bit rusty; I don’t get many visitors anymore.”

 

Then he allowed himself to crack a small chuckle, and let the man continue sweeping until a high pitched whistle began to echo in the hearth. Steam shot from the iron kettle and Kristoff went over to get it from the fire, realizing his chance while the older man was distracted. He got to his knees and looked at the boiling iron vessel, taking a pad from a hook nearby and sliding the small lid from the top, and allowing the steaming tea to escape in a burst of white moisture that disappeared up the chimney. The tea frothed in it’s iron kettle, the soggy leaves dancing with the erratic movement of the liquid surface. Kristoff slipped the small vial from his pocket, eyeing it in the light of the searing flames. The transparent solution was unreadable even in the extra light. He still didn’t know what was in that thing, and his window of opportunity was closing quickly. He knew it was now or never. Nibbling his lip, he looked back at the old man, sweeping away diligently. It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t even asked his name before letting him inside and inviting him to stay as long as he wished. That old man completely trusted him; a complete stranger.

 

He uncorked the vial, hand inches from the lip of the kettle. Casting one last look at the other man, he tipped the vial’s contents into the flames, the liquid hissing softly as it was incinerated in the overwhelming heat. A lovely feeling of relief passed over him for getting rid of the guilt in a bottle. He knew there would certainly be consequences for this, but he would need to figure this out for himself. There was no way he was going to risk hurting someone who was completely innocent in all of this-- much less someone with such kind intentions.

 

He sighed again after warming himself a bit, reminding himself what and who this mission was for. He had no curfew and as far as he knew, the Dark One could still be watching his every step to ensure the tea reached the occupier of the home. He turned back to the old man after setting the top back on the kettle.

 

“Alright. So what did you want in it? Anything?” He glanced around the cottage for any sort of ingredients that could be used to sweeten tea. He never was one for sugar in anything.

 

“I always have some milk around if you want it.” The man offered, walking over to an old icebox and unlatching the lock. “But as for me, I usually take my tea plain.”

 

Kristoff shook his head as he lifted the iron kettle from the heart with the pad, careful not to burn his extremities in the process. “I’m actually more of a coffee person to tea.” He answered. “It’s usually better for the early mornings. When you work on the ice, getting up with the sun is a luxury we can’t afford.”

 

The old man set his broom aside and got two ceramic cups laced delicately with inked belladonnas and two simple, worn plates. He then relieved Kristoff of the kettle and requested he take a seat before getting the biscuits from the hearth. He then served them both, and relaxed on his side of the table.    

 

“So, not to pry,” The man inquired, sipping his tea. "But how are the Southern Isles? I’ve only been once and it was a fleeting glance, at that.”

 

“It’s nice this time of year, not much ice to speak of though. The mountains are getting colder, so hopefully I’ll be able to afford more time off.” He responded, hoping that statement would be true in due time. He hadn’t needed to work a day in his life since moving into the palace, but ice had always been crucial part of his life, and he saw no reason whatsoever to discontinue that habit if only because he needed something to do during the day. Lately, however, he could have gladly used some spare time.

 

“I suppose that’s true in both our cases.” The man sighed slightly. “I’ve been working most of my life, there are plenty of times when I’ve questioned my line of employment.” Kristoff almost wanted him to go into specifics, but chose not to.

 

“Are you really all alone out here?” The blonde asked between a bite of biscuit. The old man nodded.

 

“Yes, but then again I’ve never really minded. I do love company, of course, but solitude is a good thing sometimes.” He looked for a moment as if he were troubled by something, but that quickly vanished. “What about you? Surely your family misses you.”

 

Kristoff found himself grinning slyly. “Not really.” He mused. “And it’s not my family that would miss me. My fiance’s family is still waiting for me to get back for the wedding.”

 

“Well then, I suppose you’ll want to get back to them eventually. Congratulations.” He offered humbly, lifting his cup in a toast. Kristoff obliged, and finished his tea, wondering what Rumplestiltskin had ever seen in the old man to put him through this test for their deal.

 

* * *

 

“So you poured it in his tea.” Rumplestiltskin held the empty vial between his long, black index claws. His tone seemed to convey an heir of disbelief, as if the results were either not satisfactory of not what he had expected. Kristoff felt somewhat uneasy, wondering what the catch would be.

 

“Yes.” He answered evenly, calloused hands tucked in each other.

 

The Dark One flashed his reptilian eyes in the iceman’s direction. “And he drank it?”

 

“Every last drop.” He nodded.

 

His moldy skin glistened with satisfaction, but it flashed past in a moment and his eyes opened wide. “Did _you_ drink it?”

A rock dropped in his stomach and he suddenly drained pale. How had he not thought of that? “What was it?” Kristoff asked, sweat beginning a slow march down his back.

 

The Dark One stood. “Did you drink it?” He questioned again.

 

“What did you make me do?” The blonde suddenly felt unwell. The look of indifference on the Dark One’s face did not improve his sensation of nausea.

 

“So you did.” He concluded. “My condolences.”

 

“No, I didn’t.” He shot back, knowing it was a lie like his previous statement. “But I followed your orders. What did that stuff do to him?” The ice cutter almost didn’t want to know. Almost.

 

“That _potion_ ,” The Dark One corrected him with slight annoyance. “Will let him live out the rest of his days. It was an antidote.”

 

Kristoff stared, dumbfounded. “An antidote? To _what?_ ”  

 

“Well to the poison, of course.” The crocodile chuckled matter-of-factly.

 

He narrowed his gaze, a large hand massaging his neck.“Wait, I thought it _was_ poison.”

 

“No!” He cackled. "The poison was what I slipped in his tea yesterday.”

 

“But I didn’t give it to him!” Kristoff groaned, guilt compounding in his stomach

 

The Dark One looked surprised. “Well why not?” He asked in an innocent tone that was not at all appropriate for the subject being discussed. “I mean we had a deal and everything.”

 

Kristoff shook his head, unsure if he could believe what he was hearing. “We need to get back to him, there has to be more antidote. We have to-” He was cut of by a disgusting cackle that sent shivers down his spine.

 

“Oh I’m afraid it’s far too late for that, dearie.” The Dark One grinned into his little crystal ball and swirled a scaly hand over the glass orb. A purple haze overtook the looking glass and Kristoff watched in horror as the old man appeared inside from his cottage, coughing and hacking loudly. A puff of smoke swirled around him and for a painfully quick moment he thought the man had disintegrated. Then, the vision faded away into nothingness.

 

“What happened to him?” He was panicking now. “He’s not dead?” He didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of that scenario.

 

“No, of course not!” The Dark One grinned menacingly into the ball as if only he could see the fate bestowed upon the poor old man. The ball suddenly came to life once more and Kristoff got his answer when he saw the little grey creature scurrying across the wooden floor.

 

“A mouse.” He responded emptily. “That poison turned him into a mouse.” He repeated in confusion. “Why a mouse?”

 

“You should’ve listened to me when you had the chance.” Was the only response he received.

 

* * *

 

He ran towards the small cottage, leaving the Dark One and the magnificent castle far behind him. He had to set things right before that crocodile got to him otherwise the old man-- er, mouse might be in real danger. Given the sorcerer’s tone there was a bone of contention between the two. What exactly caused this Kristoff didn’t know or rightly care about. Now, his biggest priority rested not with Hans, but with the condition of the mouse scurrying round the little one roomed cottage. He tore through the door and there was no sign of the little creature.

 

“Careful you don’t step on it!” An nasally familiar voice sounded to his right. The Dark One shifted at the dining table, nibbling on one of the day old biscuits. Kristoff held back a curse.

 

“Where did you come from?!” He demanded. The Dark One merely giggled. Kristoff groaned in annoyance. That laugh was quickly becoming something that would haunt his nightmares. “We have to find that mouse and turn him back.”

 

Rumplestiltskin stood. “You mean you have to find the mouse, and somehow revert him back-- because I most certainly can’t.”

 

He shook his head in complete disbelief. “Why can’t you?” He glared

 

“Because I don’t want to. You see that mouse was protecting something that I need.” The crocodile responded. “I’m the one who poisoned him.”

 

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised.”

 

“You shouldn’t be, dearie. Like you said yourself, the ‘Dark One’ must be implying something.” He repeated the ice cutters own words and the other man scowled at him from across the room.

 

“That makes no sense.” He threw his hands out. “Why did you send me to him with an antidote if you wanted him out of the way? What would you have done if I _had_ given him the antidote?”

 

The Dark One grinned slyly. “Him being out of the way was only part of my plan. As for you giving him the antidote… not telling.” He finished with a singsong voice. “Besides, it was never really about him. It was about you.”

 

He scoffed. “So you’re telling me this was all a test?”

 

The crocodile gave him a quick nod. “Yup. You see, that old man was but the first line of defense. And what he protects is also guarded by an enchantment.”

 

“And you haven’t broken it already?”

 

“Not yet, but thanks to you, it soon will be.” He replied strolling towards the ice cutter. “You see, that old man is the apprentice of a powerful sorcerer. While I fight for darkness, he fights for light. Us Dark Ones have been at opposing sides for millennia. Long ago, he placed a charm on the object I’m after; one that can only be broken by a person who’s been tempted by their inner darkness,” He paused for a moment, surveying the bulky, broad shouldered blonde. “And turned away from it. Someone just like you.”

 

“And I knew you wouldn’t do it. I knew you’d see the best in the old man. I was right.” He turned away from Kristoff and the iceman frowned.

 

“No, you’re not.” He answered.

 

The Dark One whirled around. “What?” He asked, perplexed.

 

“I never faced my ‘inner darkness.’” He began. “When that old man, that apprentice, let me into his house without even asking my name, I knew I couldn’t risk his life. From the start I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t live with hurting someone to get what I want, my papa, my fiance, they wouldn’t want me to.”

 

“Is that so?” Rumplestiltskin raised a bushy brow.

 

“I wasn’t tempted by ‘inner darkness.’” Kristoff repeated. “You should’ve picked someone else.”

 

The crocodile sighed. “Well dearie, I didn’t think your papa raised an idiot.”

 

“What do you mean,” Kristoff nearly growled, his arms crossed.

 

“I mean I hope you enjoy the rest of your life locked away in my castle.” He clarified as the mocking grin surfaced once again. Kristoff’s smile leveled and then fell. This was apparently news to him. “It was part of our deal.” The contract appeared.

 

“What?” He gaped. “Wait, I read over that thing. Where did it say that?”

 

He cackled. “Oh it’s all in the fine print dearie.”

 

Kristoff drained and his hands immediately become cold and clammy. He couldn’t breath. Fine print; the work of a seedy businessman. He’d been duped into this. “No.” He said after a moment of awed silence. “But I have to get back to Hans.” He felt desperation clawing it’s way out from it’s lair.

 

“Then you should’ve slept a bit more on it, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin replied coldly. “You should never have left home in the first place. Imagine the guilt your prince will feel when you never return home from your journey. A journey you only took because of him. He’s already lost his mother that way-- nearly killed him.” Kristoff didn’t need to be told twice.

 

“But you?” He scoffed. “It will be what pushes him over the edge; the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He’ll have lost the last person he truly loves, and he will finally become the monster everyone fears he is.” He then gasped and leaned into the ivory white blonde. “I guess the wedding’s off, then!”

 

The Dark One giggled and began to walk past Kristoff to a hatch in the floorboards. “No!” He shouted. Suddenly the anger that coursed through his veins burst free from pressure and his hand shot towards the sorcerer. His fist closed around the fitting crocodile skin leather collar of his jacket and hoisted the man up off the ground. He hardly seemed surprised by this sudden explosion from the ice cutter. In fact, from the lucid emptiness in his eyes it almost seemed like he had foreseen this event moments earlier. His free calloused hand clenched into a white knuckled fist.

 

“Rip it up.” He snapped as Rumple still held the long scroll of the contract in his hand. “Rip up the contract.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, dearie.” He answered indifferently, almost as if he wasn’t aware of his situation and he truly held complete control. “This contract is indestructible even by my magic. We both know that the only way to escape your fate is my killing me.” He sneered down at the blonde. “And we know your papa raised a gentleman.” He said barely above a whisper.

 

Kristoff struggled to keep himself from snapping the man’s neck then and there. What wasn’t helping was the Dark One’s voice as he seemed to desire for his demise. “Go on. One _snap_ and you’re free.” He stared down at the bigger man, forcing him to look him in his murky, reptilian eyes.

 

“Go on. Do it dearie.” He prodded, his voice gaining a singsong tone once more. Kristoff held back a growl.

 

“You don’t even have to look.” The sorcerer giggled mercilessly. He knew that that wasn’t true. He couldn’t look away. Those eyes enraged every fiber of his being. He’d forced him to let and old man get hurt for his own selfish desires.

 

“Do it.” Rumplestiltskin chided, his voice becoming thick and hoarse. “ _Do_ it.” He repeated, a bit louder and more forceful. His eye was twitching as his grip began to tighten around the monster’s neck. He was squeezing so tight his fingers were cramping.    

 

“ _Do it!_ ” The Dark One shouted and instantly Kristoff snapped, the rage in his eyes flashing in the blinding light of reality to the situation.

 

His grip recoiled and the sorcerer dropped nimbly to his feet while the ice cutter stumbled and fell onto his back. His white hands drifted to his own neck as if the feeling of him strangling another person (if the Dark One could be called that, of course) had a mirroring effect. Deep breaths shook his body. He stared ahead in shock and fear at his heinous actions. Realization crept to his mind. That was what inner darkness felt like?

 

All he could gather was that whatever that feeling was, he never wanted to experience it again.

 

“You may not have considered killing the old man.” Rumplestiltskin remarked, strolling up to where the ice cutter had sat up, backing into a daybed under the ladder. “But you just thought very hard about killing me.” His voice was reduced to a hushed tone as he leaned in.

 

Kristoff refused to look at him any more than he had to, and he felt a single tear rolling down his cheek. Suddenly the dagger was lowered to his jaw height, and for a moment he assumed the man was going to run him through. Instead, the tear rolled and landed on the intricately sculpted blade. A bright flash momentarily overtook the weapon and Rumple giggled devilishly again. He quickly cleaned himself up with his sleeve, and avoided crying any further. He glared as the Dark One surveyed the single drop that conveyed his desire for vengeance and murder.

 

“The tear of someone who’s faced their inner darkness, and turned away from it.” He grinned confidently at Kristoff. “The love for your prince was all I could ever need, and more.”

 

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” He growled. “I should’ve known better than to trust you at all. From the moment I met you, I should’ve known that you’re a monster. You take something beautiful in the world-- love.” The blonde glared. “And you turn it into a weapon.”

 

“Love is always a weapon, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin corrected him. “The trouble is, so few people know how to wield it as such.”

 

Kristoff could only glare in response as the Dark One magicked the crawlspace door open with a flash of golden light, and strolled into the darkness that awaited him below. While he was down there, Kristoff took some time to look for the mouse, but was unsuccessful in finding him. He also began to impatiently wait for his end of the deal. It was hardly appropriate to do so within earshot of the man he was responsible for leaving to be turned into a rodent, but by that point Kristoff had pretty much given up his reserves of patience and tolerance. The Dark One’s antics obviously brought out a different side of him that he didn’t appreciate or like for that matter. All he wanted to do was get the information he wanted for Hans and hightail it out of the Enchanted Forest not because of time constraints, but because this was the bottom of the barrel. If Rumple couldn’t provide the answers he was looking for, he was out of luck and would have no choice but to go back to the Southern Isles empty handed, and that would not help Hans any.

 

The Dark One finally returned after a short length of time that lingered for much longer than necessary. “Alright.” Kristoff began, still not over his involvement in this plan. “You got what you wanted so it’s time to hold up your end of this deal. Tell me about the Queen and why she came here.” He stood firm with buff arms crossed expectantly.

 

The crocodile sighed in response as if the action of recollection was simply too tedious and not at all worth his precious time. However, he took a breath of air, and began to tell him everything, as promised. “The Queen of the Southern Isles was a busy woman. As you know she had many children with many a husbands. The affairs of her other children, however, were none so as important as her youngest. Prince Hans was to her, quite the problem indeed.”

 

“She loved him.” Kristoff argued.

 

“It sounded more to me, like she feared him. It’s such a fine line and oh so easily crossed. Her majesty struggled to raise him even with the help of her other sons-- her other, _normal_ sons. She taught him to conceal his powers, to pretend like they didn’t exist. And when that began to show signs of failure, she crafted a faux journey to Weselton to discuss trade agreements. She landed at my doorstep and wanted to know if there was a way to take away your fiance’s powers; permanently.”

 

Kristoff swallowed a lump in his throat, this information unsettling even though part of him had grown to expect it. What he’d told Hans that day in the hunting grounds had been somewhat of a white lie. He knew the queen had been fearful for her son’s future in such a high profile environment. He knew she might’ve feared him. He knew she could’ve left because of him, but that didn’t make the truth any more bearable or desirable. “And did she find a method?”

 

“I told her there was no such way.” Rumplestiltskin sneered. “No one has ever wielded such power to take magic away. It was the simple truth back then that nothing that powerful or dangerous existed that could do so. But that was then. And this,” He revealed a round, golden box with lacquered stars on the top. It was barely the size of a tea saucer. “Is now.”

 

The iceman frowned. “And she never made it back.”

 

“Unfortunately, that is true. However, this could’ve easily solved her problems with her youngest whelp.” He cackled at his unfunny joke.

 

“So that’s what the box does.” Kristoff concluded.

 

“Bingo.” Rumplestiltskin pointed a scaly claw at the blonde. “Except, that it’s not the box. It’s the hat inside. It was crafted by the sorcerer thousands of years ago for a single purpose: to steal magical power and eliminate threats. In this lifetime, the sorcerer became far too busy to protect the thing himself. So, he acquired an apprentice-- one who could devote his whole life to guarding it.”

 

The Dark One began walking towards Kristoff and so he move back in shuffles. “And what are you going to do with it?” His brown eyes flickered between the glistening sorcerer and the box he held.

 

“Well once the hat has collected all the magic it can, and is fully charged with that energy,” He seemed to muse over the somewhat obvious conclusion. “I will be unstoppable.”

 

The blonde raised an eyebrow. “I thought the Dark One was already unstoppable.” He remarked.

 

However the crocodile man didn’t seem at all phased by this. “There are limits, dearie; however small they may be.” He took a final step forward and Kristoff felt his boots press against the stone arch that led to a small connected and empty barn.

 

“You can’t.” Kristoff replied. “That mouse-- er, apprentice,” He corrected himself. “He gave up his entire life to protect that hat. He dedicated all of it to keep that box out of the hands of people like you.”

 

Rumplestiltskin leaned in uncomfortably close to Kristoff. He could smell the putrid scent of caviar on his breath through yellowed teeth. “Too bad that he’s not around to stop me.”

 

Kristoff smirked and looked up. “What if he is?”

 

Both men stared at the ceiling where the exposed beams branched across the little cottage. Though Rumplestiltskin couldn’t see it from where he was, a familiar gray little mouse crawled carefully along the wooden beam. His little paws scratched into the surface and he peered down at the pair of men with dark onyx eyes. Suddenly,just as the sorcerer realized where the little creature was, he dropped down and landed on the hand holding his dagger. His buck, sharp teeth bit into the back of his scaly flesh and he cursed with pain. The dagger dropped and clattered to the floor as Rumple staggered, shaking the rodent from his hand only for it to scurry off to a dark little hole in the stone wall. Kristoff seized the opportunity and grabbed the wavy knife. The Dark One’s eyes shot wide open as he realized someone else wielded his dagger and began to charge at the large man, hand poised to do magical harm.

 

The ice cutter fell back, sharp end pointed directly in the other man’s direction. He held the black handle with one hand. “Don’t come any closer!” He warned.

 

Rumplestiltskin complied, halting in his tracks almost instantly. In fact, he took a few steps backward, as if he’d already crossed the invisible line he’d placed into existence. Kristoff blinked, not expecting such a civil response. Something was up.

 

“Wait, you’re doing what I tell you?” He questioned as if not believing what had just transpired. The Dark One glared menacingly between the blonde and the dagger he now wielded, shaking the blood from his injured hand. Kristoff followed the other man's gaze, and smiled confidently.

 

“I get it.” He nodded. “As long as I have this knife, you have to do what I say, don’t you?” It suddenly made sense why the powerful man kept himself in control at all times. His previous statement suddenly made a lot more sense.

 

“Yes.” He hissed, obviously trying to control his temper while searching for a way to disarm Kristoff of the element of his control when it was by all means completely pointless. “That’s how it works.”

 

“This is one of the limits you were talking about, isn’t it?” The ice cutter narrowed his gaze. “Is that why you want that hat: to free yourself from the control of this dagger?” Rumplestiltskin seemed reluctant to answer this, but Kristoff was hardly in the mood for this.

 

“Answer me!” He snapped and jabbed the sharp end a bit closer as if that would extend the control.

 

“To be free of the control and to keep my power, yes!” The crocodile admitted hotly.

 

“Yeah well I’m not letting you walk out of here with that hat.” The ice cutter gestured to the box of stars that held unimaginable use for someone like the Dark One. “No one deserves to have that amount of power. So give me the box.” A beat passed. “Please.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin looked murderously at him, taking one step forward before extending his arm to meet Kristoff’s outstretched hand. His fingers clasped around the box, and with little resistance, the sorcerer relinquished the circular object.

 

“Remember, dearie.” He breathed with forcefully restrained rage. “You won’t be able to keep hold of that dagger forever. And you don’t want to be on the other end of it when I get it back.” He warned before stepping back to where he was permitted.

 

Kristoff slipped the box into his pocket and glared at him. “Then I command you, Dark One,” He began. “To send me and this box home to the Southern Isles. In the central marketplace.” He specified where, knowing that otherwise the vengeful man would send him to one of the thousands of deserted or uncharted islands in the countries borders.

 

“If I must.” The Dark One replied softly and raised his hand. Another thought occured in his head.

 

“Wait.” The blonde stopped him just short of the magic taking hold. “And also you can never hurt me, or Hans… or anyone within our borders am I making myself clear?” The sorcerer nodded slowly. “Lastly, you have to turn the mouse back into the apprentice and leave him alone for the rest of his life.” He tacked on quickly.

 

“Are you quite finished?” He growled, the ends of his mouth twitching in complete and utter contempt for the ice cutter.

 

“Yes.” Kristoff nodded, clasping his hand tightly around the box. “Now I’m ready.”

 

A puff of violet smoke swirled around the broad shouldered man and enclosed him in it’s darkness. The dagger phased from his hand and clattered to the floor as he was magically teleported to where he ordered the Dark One to send him. In an instant Kristoff and all traces of him were completely erased. The hold on the crocodile lifted, and he stared at only the dagger, the one thing he’d hoped to be free of within a mere few days. He picked up the gleaming weapon and stared at it before finally unleashing his rage, a horrifically loud shout echoing in the tiny cottage at having been evaded the chance to cleave himself from the dagger after he’d come so close. He knew he would somehow get that hat back from the ice cutter, no matter what he’d ordered him to do. And it would be a dark day when he finally exacted his revenge on the iceman.

 

* * *

 

Elsa stood at the fence that separated her from Olaf and Sven, a basket of apples and carrots tucked under her arm. She’d been in the small building for the better part of the day, finally taking her paid leave after finally being prodded into it by her workaholic husband. With Kristoff gone, she had been seeing to Sven, giving him the best care she could until the blonde finally returned from his journey and relieved some of the heavy tension that was settling and collecting around the palace what with the stranger and the upcoming wedding.

 

For the most part, Elsa had warned her husband to stay out of Hans’ personal affairs with his new father. As far as the lumberjane was concerned, it was not their place to pry into this moment of his life, and Pedar had agreed. Especially because it allowed the fire prince to for once in a week not be fuming or constantly distracting everyone else with his worry and anxiety. They as well as Thomas were quite relieved that the youngest prince was connecting very well with his estranged father. A thorough search of the record room and interrogation of the council turned up nothing, and the man refused to give an alibi for his lack of presence in his son’s life or his desire to reconnect with someone he barely knew.

 

But Thomas almost begrudgingly, it seemed, accepted the man’s account as the truth, as his familiarity to both brothers became all the more obvious during the scarce times that the three of them were together.

 

Elsa and Pedar had happily taken that time for their family leave as a recent visit to the trolls suggested she was to be giving birth within two weeks. And despite her unshakeable work ethic and tolerance for pain, the absolute last thing she felt like doing as of recently was chopping down a tree or even riding Olaf. But she was still glad to care for him and Sven, regardless of her aching back or demon-like hunger. However that certainly didn’t mean she’d let every apple and carrot reach the reindeer first.

 

Olaf ate vigorously, finishing his lunch and then some before trotting happily back to his bed of hay and lying down for a mid afternoon nap. Sven on the other hand, was being rather uncooperative.

 

In Sven’s purchase from a mountain herder, Elsa had been the one to originally voice the idea of a reindeer as a wedding present to the prince who for days had fumbled over attempting to recreate something from his ill-fated birthday party. She had been the one to guide the heavy beast back to the stables and in that time she’d grown to bond with the handsome brunette specimen. She’d taken to giving him a voice, like she did with Olaf, and was pleasantly surprised to discover Kristoff sometimes followed suit. She’d always had a way with reindeer, and prior to Kristoff’s sudden departure, Sven had always taken food from her.

 

But now? She’d been spending nearly an hour chiding the beast to at least nibble on the carrots he was so fond of like Kristoff. Instead, he grunted and refused. At first politely, but patience soon drained from both of them and Elsa even found herself arguing with him, not yet reaching a stage of bribery, amazingly.

 

“Come on,” She tried to get Sven to look her in the eyes, which succeeded. “Just one?” And lasted for all of three seconds as she held the best looking carrot towards the larger of the two reindeer. He shook his head with a snort.

 

“Sven, really?” She scoffed. “Quit pouting. You love carrots. What do I have to do to get you to eat?” The creature raised an eyebrow as if the indicate that she knew exactly what was keeping him from eating. Elsa groaned with frustration.

 

“He _is_ coming back, Sven. You know he’s not going to leave you behind. Besides,” She realized an ulterior motive. “You wouldn’t want to make him sad by not being a good boy, would you?”

 

The reindeer shook his head slowly and reluctantly, but stuck out his jaw so that his lip stuck out in an appealing pout. She rolled her cerulean blue eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with you these days.”

 

“Maybe he just needs some time with me.” A familiar voice came from the doorway, and Elsa was barely able to turn around before the reindeer's mouth slurped around her thin wrist, and the carrot was sucked from her grip. She yanked her empty hand from his mouth and shook it off, dusting it on a rag laying over the rail of the pen.

 

The lumberjane then strolled up to the ice cutter and embraced him warmly. “Thank God you’re back. Hans has been worried senseless.”

 

“I figured that.” Kristoff rolled his eyes and broke away. “I take it Sven’s being difficult as always?”

 

Elsa glanced back at the creature who was still happily munching on his one carrot. “Oh no,” She sighed. “He’s been a perfect angel.” She crossed her arms as a loud grunt came from the pen Sven stood in.

 

“Good to hear.” He nodded in response.

 

A moment of silence quickly passed before the brunette began asking questions. “So,” She leaned against the gate of the pen. “How’d the mission go? Who was that friend you were talking about?”

 

“David? He’s fine.” He then seemed to deflate, his eyes darkening.

 

Elsa frowned a bit, perplexed. “And the mission?”

 

“Didn’t go as planned.” He deadpanned and shook his head.

 

“So she did leave because of Hans.” She concluded solemnly. He nodded, and a moment of silence passed between the two. Elsa finally broke it. “And what are you going to tell him?”

 

He released a scoff followed by a mirthless chuckle. “I…” He struggled. “I don’t know.”

 

She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “You know you’re going to have to tell him eventually. Practically all Hans has been doing is waiting for you to get back.”

 

“I know.” He answered, obviously annoyed at the truth. “But what am I supposed to say to him? That it _was_ all his fault his mother went on that journey and it’s all his fault she’s dead?”

 

Elsa bit her lip. “Well let’s not just rush to that conclusion. Why did she leave because of Hans?” Her tone seemed to convey a distant hope that Kristoff didn’t know the answer.

 

Unfortunately, he did. “Because she was afraid of him.” He deadpanned. “She was looking for a way to strip Hans of his powers-- permanently. She wanted to change who he was.” His hand clasped around the box which held the answers to the dead queens desires. “With this.” He held out the box and Elsa frowned at it.

 

“Where did you get that?” She wrinkled her nose at the box.

 

Kristoff studied the object. “I kind of stole it from a sorcerer. But that’s besides the point.” He pocketed the box once more.

 

“Well,” Elsa sighed and crossed her arms. “There certainly isn’t going to be an easy way out of this, is there?” She questioned sardonically.

 

“Which is why I’m not telling him anything.” He concluded. Elsa opened her mouth to say something, but shut it upon realizing that Kristoff wasn’t about to change his attitude towards the situation or Hans’ feelings in the slightest. He was characteristically stubborn as always. After a moment, she offered what she could in the way of advice as the ice cutter turned and walked out of the stables.

 

“When you get your ass burned off don’t come crying to me!” She called after him before turning back to Olaf. “Men,” She shook her head and groaned. Olaf grunted in agreement, nodding with understanding.

 

* * *

 

The stranger who had broken into the Storybrooke Town Library was a curious fellow with an out of place British accent and seemed foreign in a town balanced on the coastal perch of Maine. He’d broken into a bread shop and rendered a week's worth of decent business null and void not even a day earlier. Of course, by this time Emma was hardly in the mood to play Good Cop with the knave after he’d ruined her first real date with Hook. The interrogation went painfully slow as she struggled to illicit a decent answer from the drunken fool. There was no explanation for his reasons for breaking into a library than what was obviously a poorly conceived fib that he’d passed it off as a poorly stocked pub.

 

When he’d received a half eaten pop tart and a bottle of water even though there was a perfectly good, untouched bread basket sitting less than ten feet from the bars, he was visibly miffed at the sheriff’s lack of concern for him. Of course, Emma could’ve cared less. That bread basket had been untouched by its owner, who was still staring into the pages of record books for any sign of his blonde fiance, obviously not in the mood for food when there were more important priorities to him. David lightened the load, being as helpful as he could by double checking the thick records for any skipped pages or ones the brow beaten royal was too exhausted to read himself. The village imbecile frowned from where he stood, water half drained as he looked over at the basket with hungry eyes. While the sheriff hardly felt like indulging in the man’s desires when there were answers to be had, recollection of her days as a bail bondswoman reminded her there was merit to be had by giving the accused something they wanted in moderation. If it would help him be more focused and cooperate, that would mean more time to search for the elusive pyro that seemed to stalk behind Emma’s shadow with every waking moment.

 

“Reckon I’d be more willin’ if I could get some nourishment.” He patted his stomach lightly. Emma turned to the prince, who looked up and was clearly exhausted.

 

He nodded and waved a weary hand as if to give Emma permission to his food before his neck bent back towards the emerald green books. The sheriff took the basket from the desk after the prince weakly grabbed a croissant and nibbled at it. She passed a bun to the inmate who quickly began stuffing his mouth in the worst display of manners she had seen in her entire life-- including the boorish middle aged men who slurped at fancy dinners while ignoring their bail payments, and numberless amount of the rowdy kids both young and old she’d been forced to watch eat during all those years in foster care.

 

“So,” The blonde frowned and leaned against the bars. “You look a little beat up, and I don’t think someone as drunk as you could’ve nailed your own face. Care to tell me who gave you that black eye?”

 

The knave looked ready to confess but frowned as Captain Hook strolled into the office. He looked over her shoulder at him, but Emma snapped his attention back to her. He swallowed his hidden desire to bring that bloody pirate down to size. But instead he bit back the feeling. “I’m afraid I don’t recall sheriff.” He shook his head. “It’s a bloody mystery to me. Your guess is as good as mine.”

 

The blonde turned around to face her boyfriend. “Where were you?”

 

“Sorry love.” Hook replied. “I just got your message.”

 

Sighing slightly, she turned back to the man behind bars. “Well, if you happen to remember anything, I’ll know where to find you.” She remarked and walked towards Hook.

 

The knave gripped the bars. “Are you just gonna keep me locked up in here because I broke into a bloody library?” He questioned incredulously.

 

“Because you crashed my date.” She snipped and turned back towards Hook, arms wrapping around his neck as she grinned and stared him in the eyes. “Which turned out pretty good, despite the rude interruption.” The sheriff then glanced and noticed the pirate was devoid of his other hand. “What happened to your hand?”

 

“It appears that the Dark One’s magic was not what I’d hoped it to be.” Hook answered.

 

She was right about to ask what he meant when David piped up from his and Hans’ collective silence in the corner of the sheriff’s office. “Emma, come here.” He stood. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

 

“Well, make it fast. I want to be able to go after the pyro again and keep the trail--” She paused as if realizing her wording was off. “Warm.”   

 

“That’s exactly who I wanted to talk about.” David answered. “The name he’s been using in Storybrooke, Kent Cooke; that doesn’t appear in any of the records from the first or second curse or from the Enchanted Forest.”

 

“What does that mean?” Emma questioned.

 

“It means you were right.” Her father held out the book they had stopped on. “He didn’t come here by any curse.” Emma took a moment to scan the pages of text, seeing that her father's words were indeed quite true. There was no mention of a Kent Cooke living in Storybrooke in any of the thorough record books set by the first or second curse.

  
“Then how did he get here?” She asked the question on everyone’s minds, and another one quickly followed suit. “And what the hell does he want with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a bit shorter than the other ones-- I didn't want to leach off another episodes plot and half of this one wasn't centered around plot that would for the most part go unchanged with my narration.


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